Princess Madeline and Sir Gregory are the hero and heroine of my latest medieval romantic exploit Tamed by the Knight, but what of the secondary characters? In this case, they are mostly of the four legged kind…
“Come,” he said. “Our party awaits.”
“We will be traveling with others? An armed escort?” In spite of her bravado, Madeline rather liked the idea of being accompanied by a contingent of soldiers. Her mother and sister would certainly be protected that way.
“Something like that,” Sir Gregory replied. “Come.”
Madeline followed him to the stables where their horses had been readied. The horses were not alone. There were also two hounds, tall, lanky creatures with broad chests and wide heads filled with flashing teeth. Their black rimmed maws opened in wide panting grins as Sir Gregory approached. One lunged toward him as he drew closer and put its paws on his chest. Standing erect, it was almost as tall as he. Sir Gregory greeted the creature with a vigorous rubbing on the back of its head which made the animal throw its face into the air and pant its glee. It was a well dressed beast, a thick metal collar ran the length of its neck, etched with scenes of battle and valor. Sir Gregory laughed as the beast lapped at his face with its great tongue. Keep reading…
Today the UK banned spanking and caning in pornographic movies produced in the UK. They also banned female ejaculation because they don’t believe it’s a real thing and they think it’s just a sneaky way for women to pee everywhere.*
Pornography in Britain is now to consist of nothing but a fully dressed woman in a lace collar with her hair tied back in a chignon quoting episodes of Downton Abbey. Because that, apparently, is what the world has fucking come to.
I’m not pissed off because it’s sexist. (Which it undoubtedly is.) Or because it impinges on freedom. (Which it does.) I’m pissed off because this is yet another assault on our right to be human at a basic level. I’m so, so, so very very tired of the constant barrage of rules and regulations of things that should never have been up for rule or regulation in the first place. No sooner are we born than we are stripped of half the damn things that make us human in the first place.
Sexuality and its accompanying urges and impulses, as non-missionary and not at all for procreation as they may be should be regulated only to the extent that a consenting partner of sufficient age is involved. That’s it. Those are all the rules we need. Anything more than that is just voyeurism on a governmental level.
The fixation of law makers with getting into the collective pants of a nation and telling them where they are and are not allowed to find satisfaction is in itself a fairly skin crawling phenomenon. It’s a violation of the special relationship between a man or a woman, a camera operator, a lighting technician, a webmaster, and oh, yes, the tens of thousands of people who’d quite like to watch some spanking movies without having to check with Westminster first.
(*They confuse women with incontinent cats – which are also not allowed in pornography.)
“Edward?” Madeline hissed the name as she approached a hedge of bright blue flowers. “Edward, are you here?”
There was a rustling and a squire appeared out of the bushes. “Princess Madeline,” he bowed, a cheeky grin on his handsome young face.
“Do you have it?”
“I do,” he said. “Fresh from the far isles, a blend unlike any other. It’s spiced…”
“I don’t care if it was dragged through dung.” Madeline sighed with relief. “Pack me a pipe, would you?”
She handed her favorite pipe to the squire, who wasted no time in packing the bowl with green leaves marked with bright orange streaks and little white crystals that reminded Madeline of the tale of manna from heavens.
“Princess,” Edward said, handing it back. “I will strike a light for you.” He took out an iron and flint and began striking it into a little bowl full of straw brought for the purpose. For long minutes, he worked the sparks. Finally one caught light and the straw began to burn. Madeline’s pipe was lit and she drew a deep smoke-filled breath into her lungs.
Coughing ensued, but along with it came a deep sense of well-being. The cares of the day slipped away ever so slightly. Madeline glanced upon the bowl and saw that there was much more yet to smoke. By the time she was done she would almost certainly be entirely free of concerns. With the squire by her side, the green grass beneath her feet and the sky hanging benignly above their heads, Madeline began to relax to the sweet song of sparrows flitting about the bushes.
All was well, until a deep male voice intruded upon the chirping of the birds. Someone had come upon them, someone as irritated as he was large. Madeline experienced him first as a large shadow falling over her shoulders from behind, then as an annoyed growl.
“I have told you before not to carouse with the maids!”
Edward was propelled away by a hard cuff to the back of his head, dealt by a giant of a man. Madeline turned with pipe still clenched between her teeth, the bowl supported by her pale, elegant hand. She may have been dressed in the clothing of a commoner, but she carried herself with undeniably royal comportment.
The man, who was evidently a knight, was far more angry with his squire than with her. Indeed, he had not properly noticed her as yet, he was too busy being towering and imposing.
“Sir Gregory, you do not understand…” Edward stammered as he tried to explain.
“I understand perfectly well, lad,” Sir Gregory replied. “You’ve always had a taste for loose women.”
“Loose?” Madeline was quite scandalized by the description, but amused too if the truth were known. She had been called many things, but loose was not one of them. Elizabeth’s alleged promiscuity was quite foreign to Madeline, who had never allowed herself to be seduced by anyone.
It was good to know that her disguise, though simple, was amply effective, for it had fooled the knight without question. Madeline bit the stem of the pipe and looked upon Sir Gregory with no small measure of enjoyment. He was a wickedly attractive man with long dark hair framing a wolfish face, all hard lines and strength. His nose was straight with a low profile, his lips well formed with attractive sensitivity. It was his size that she found most exciting; he practically dwarfed Madeline and for once, she felt quite dainty.
“Hush, girl,” Sir Gregory growled, still without looking at her.
“Sir Gregory,” Edward said, making another attempt to explain. “This is no loose woman. This is Princess Madeline.”
“Princess?” Sir Gregory turned and looked at her properly for the first time. A little smirk played over Madeline’s lips as the handsome man’s pale blue eyes narrowed, then widened in surprise. “Princess Madeline!”
“The very same,” Madeline said, gesturing grandly with the pipe.
The knight snatched it from her hand and emptied it onto the grass, stamping the smoldering embers beneath his oversized boot. “Surely you must know this dulls the mind and diseases the lungs.”
“I know that it is not the place of a knight to take anything from a princess,” Madeline said haughtily, holding out her hand. “Pack it anew and strike a fresh light if you please. Your infernal interference has put a damper on my afternoon.”
Sir Gregory shook his head curtly and held her pipe aloft. “I rather think I should take this to your father and let him see what amusements you find left to your own devices. Where are your chaperones? Where are your ladies-in-waiting?”
“I do not need to be followed about wherever I go,” Madeline said. “Besides, my father would not believe you.” A most smug smile spread over Madeline’s pretty lips. “He does not believe the reports of the ladies-in-waiting, why would he believe you?”
“Because I am not a chivvying lady, but a knight of his realm.”
“And I am his daughter,” Madeline replied.
“His insolent, misbehaved daughter,” Sir Gregory amended. “Who fraternizes with squires and shirks the duties of her station.”
His tone was scathing in the extreme, which Madeline did not take to in the slightest. Princesses were rarely chastised, and certainly never lectured by knights. Though she did not have his height or his stature, she matched his scorn in her expression and posture.
“Who are you to speak to me in such a fashion? I think it is you who has forgotten his place and duties,” she replied. “Now give me my pipe.”
“I will not,” he said. “And I suggest you moderate your tone.”
Speaking of tones, there was some threat implied in his, but Madeline did not care for that. He could glower and growl all he liked; she was a princess and he was merely a knight.
“I order you to give it back to me this instant!” She became more strident in her demand. Surely he would give in if she ordered him with sufficient authority.
“Princess, I would not give this back to you if the king commanded me himself,” Sir Gregory replied. “Rewarding your shrill and shrewish temper would be doing you the ultimate disservice. Take yourself back to your chambers, and do not let me find you consorting with squires again.”
Edward the squire had taken the opportunity to slip away during their argument, leaving Madeline to face the knight’s wrath alone. That did not concern her in the slightest. He might be a man of war, but her tongue could be as dangerous as any sword.
“Rather a squire than a puffed-up buffoon!”
Sir Gregory’s expression drew grim. “Princess, you are dangerously close to being thrashed.”
“Bwahahahaha!” Madeline laughed at him, clutching at her side, so great was her mirth. The very idea was completely out of the realm of possibility. The worst punishment Madeline had ever endured was being forbidden from the stables after being caught on the back of Lord Crawley’s stallion. She had long since found a way around that particular restriction thanks to the willingness of servants to lie in return for royal favors. “Give me what is mine,” she insisted, holding her hand up under his nose.
Instead of restoring her pipe to her, Sir Gregory took her hand and turned her about. She quickly regretted the ditching of her petticoats, for the relatively thin fabric of the servant’s dress offered hardly any protection at all against his palm, which landed across her buttocks with a hard slap, shocking and paining her in equal measure.
Madeline had never experienced physical chastisement before. She found it most unpleasant. Not only was it uncomfortable, but it was very embarrassing to be struck upon her hindquarters like some commoner. Shame flushed her cheeks as heat suffused her buttocks.
“Stop! In the name of the king, stop!”
Her cries were more plaintive than regal as she twisted in Gregory’s grasp, her slipper-clad feet dancing back and forth beneath the beating of his palm, which was now coming in steady unavoidable strokes.
“I will stop when you apologize for behaving in a manner unbecoming a princess,” Sir Gregory informed her.
“Apologize! For being treated brutally? Never!” Madeline squirmed around to face him. “You will pay for this with your neck!”
Gregory tugged her back around and slapped her bottom yet again, his strong hand sweeping back and forth through the air, landing over and over against her tender rump. He was thrashing her as if she were no more than some peasant scamp, showing little regard for the illustriousness of her person.
Nineteen-year-old Princess Madeline is not about to let anyone dictate who she can and cannot marry. She will settle for nothing less than a king, and her sister’s upcoming marriage to a prince is merely tedious—much like everything that goes on at court.
Madeline is used to getting her way, so when Sir Gregory—a mere knight—finds her making mischief and spanks her long and hard for her behavior, she is angrier than she’s ever been. To her absolute horror, after her encounter with Sir Gregory rumors begin to spread through the court that her virtue may have been compromised. Fearing a scandal and wanting Madeline off his hands, the king commands her to take the brave knight’s hand in marriage. But knights don’t inherit kingdoms, and Madeline intends to be a queen.
In an attempt to prevent the ruin of her plans, she flees the castle. Yet after Sir Gregory tracks her down and brings her home with a sore, well-spanked bottom, his firm-handed dominance proves to the feisty princess that, regardless of his station, his bearing is that of a king. She soon finds herself falling in love with her new husband, even though it means putting aside her dreams of a crown. But when an old and bitter foe attacks their homeland, both Madeline and Sir Gregory will need all their wits and all their courage to save their people.
With a brisk knock, Helen Twice is back. It’s after curfew, so she knows I’ll be in my room. I’m updating my log when she enters unannounced clutching that damn paddle in her right hand.
“You ready for your punishment?”
“Nope.” I smirk at her. She can take it back up the chain if she likes. I’m not worried.
Sarge steps into the room behind her. Suddenly I am worried. She looks hot as hell, wearing her uniform slacks and a black vest which emphasizes the curve of her bust and the hard line of her abdomen. It also leaves her toned arms free to flex and distract with their deliciousness. Her eyes draw me in, those dark orbs full of mystery. I forget about Twice entirely as I stare at Sarge, just awestruck by the woman. She has a presence I find hard to describe, it’s sort of like having a bunch of fizzing powder dumped down my throat. I’m excited, so much so that I’m breaking out into a light sweat just looking at her.
“We talked about this, Ray.” Twice speaks, killing the moment.
“We did.” I’m in my pajamas. Not ideal clothing for mounting any real kind of resistance. I look from Sarge to Twice and back to Sarge again. “What kind of disciplinary action takes two people?”
“I’m here to supervise,” Sarge says. “Don’t mind me.”
I’m not worried about Twice. She’s a non-issue. But Sarge is another matter. Sarge is going to have my ass if she hears me talk to Twice the way I want to.
“On your stomach, Ray. And take those pants down.” It’s Twice who gives the order. She’s being more aggressive than usual because she doesn’t want to look weak in front of Sarge.
There’s just no way this is happening. I stay exactly where I am, sitting cross-legged on my bed with my log book in front of me.
“Don’t give her time to stall.” Sarge speaks up. She takes two long steps into the room. They bring her beside my bed where she grabs me by the arm and tugs me over so I’m face down. Her speed slows my reaction time by a good couple of seconds in which she’s already smacked my pajama clad ass twice with the flat of her hand. I emit a squeal which has nothing to do with pain and everything to do with shock.
“You knew coming in she wasn’t going to do as she was told, so you have to take charge otherwise you end up getting her into even bigger trouble by letting her dig a hole of insubordination,” Sarge explains to Twice. She smacks my butt again and I squeak again. “See?”
“Yes ma’am,” Officer Twice says. “Of course, we’re not all as physically gifted as you.”
Twice has a point. I’m bigger than her and she has about as much chance of wrangling me as she does riding an asteroid into the nearest sun. I’d never let Helen Twice spank me. She’s pretty, and she’s talented but she’s not half as determined as Sarge.
Held against my bed with Sarge’s hand on my ass, I’m thoroughly distracted. Her fingers are spread across my left cheek, the tips dipping into the crevice between my buttocks. With every little squirm they sink a bit deeper until they’re so close to the unmentionable parts of my unmentionables that I almost stop breathing for being unable to believe that she’s touching me with a level of intimacy that practically makes us lovers apart from the fact that we aren’t.
“Halo’s going to be good for you now,” Sarge tells Twice. “Because if she isn’t, she’s going to have to answer to me. Isn’t that right, Halo?”
The question is growled in my ear in resonant feminine tones. She punctuates it with a squeeze which makes the tip of her ring finger brush ever so lightly over very sensitive flesh untouched by anyone ever, sending tremors coursing through every part of my completely trapped, totally thrilled body.
It’s not easy being a low ranked officer on a space ship with an all-female crew. Halo Ray has it tough keeping the spirited young women under her command in line whilst trying not to come to the attention of her superiors for her own illicit antics. Setting a good example isn’t exactly Halo’s strong suit, and though she makes sure her subordinates are somewhat well behaved, she herself is getting more and more out of control by the day.
With no respect for protocol, orders, or even clearly marked instructions, it seems as though nothing and no-one can stop her. That is, until she comes up against Sarge, a heavenly butch with a firm hand capable of a gentle touch. Unlike other superior officers who pawn her off on one another in an endless round, Sarge brings Halo to world-shattering, knee-trembling, that’s-going-to-leave-a-mark justice again and again.
Temporarily subdued to the useful and the good, Halo tries to settle down. But the secret she’s been carrying since she came aboard has a disruptive power which threatens to tear her relationship apart and destroy any chance at redemption she might have. If she’s going to make it, Halo needs to learn to trust again before her self-destructive tear ends up hurting not just her, but those who depend on her for their survival.
It’s natural for a naughty brat to want to avoid a spanking, but Alyssa soon discovers she can’t escape her hot-bottomed fate when Chase is in charge….
“You can’t run from consequences, Alyssa,” he said, palming her bottom. “And you can’t hide from them either. If you want to spend the day playing games to try to get out of the trouble you know you’re in, you’re going to find yourself very sore.”
Before she could answer, he laid the first slap across her skirt clad bottom. The firm swat sent a jolt through her body and made her blush. It didn’t hurt, not yet anyway. But it reminded her beyond any reasonable doubt that he was in control of the situation. In control of her, too.
“This,” he said, punctuating each word with a fresh swat, “is what you get for disobeying me this morning.” He spanked her rhythmically, going from cheek to cheek, his palm bounding off her rear with alacrity then returning for another stinging blow.
“I had to go to work!”
“You weren’t going to be late for work,” he said, spanking her harder. “You knew you were in trouble. I haven’t seen a brat look as guilty as you did this morning in a long time.” Keep reading…
“I’ve been here for almost two hours,” Alyssa said, ignoring his question. “All I need is a stitch or two and for some reason, you people seem to think that everyone else’s world stops the moment they walk through the doors of this place. Well, newsflash, it doesn’t! I have work to do, and unlike you lot, I actually intend on doing it.”
She had not intended to unload on the handsome doctor in quite so spectacular a fashion, but a certain amount of drama came naturally to Alyssa, and her frustration levels had reached an all-time high. It didn’t help that she was hungry and hurt.
Dr. Wright put his hand on her shoulder, and for a moment she thought he was actually going to treat her. Instead, he bought his other hand down in a sweeping swat that culminated in a harsh connection with her rear.
“Ow!” She squealed in outrage, surprise, and discomfort. “What the hell was that?”
She put her hand to her bottom and glared at him, entirely outraged by his nerve. He’d slapped her backside as if she were… well, she didn’t know what she would had to have been to make that okay. His possession in some age long past, perhaps. Certainly not a modern woman who expected to be treated like an equal. Certainly not a patient.
“Spread your legs a little.”
The order was gruff, almost sexual.
“I need to take your temperature.” He put his hand on the back of her shoulders and gently pressed her face and upper body toward the bed. She felt him tug her panties down to her thighs and a second later she was left with her bare bottom exposed to the stern doctor who seemed to have no qualms about treating her like a naughty girl. Keep reading…