Copyright 2000 by asparkle2@yahoo.com. All rights reserved.

Beatrice’s voice shook slightly. “I expect you are going to beat me.”

His Lordship smiled a cool, dispassionate smile of amusement. “Of course I am. Why else would I bother with marriage?” He looked her over, from forehead to toe, appreciating her youthful vibrancy. Beneath the sheer nightdress, her body was warmly alive. His eyes narrowed. “In fact, you will be expected to show your appreciation for this liaison, Beatrice. The alternative, after all, was to throw you into the poorhouse with your mother, leaving your father without recourse in debtor’s prison.”

The earl truly was a cold-blooded bastard, Beatrice told herself. Ruining her parents did not satisfy his need for revenge. Imprisoning them, and taking away their titles didn’t satisfy him. No, the earl had demanded their daughter as his final prize. Somehow Beatrice knew he would not be satisfied with anything less than complete submission from her. Unexpectedly, her body trembled at the thought. “You are a hard man.” Beatrice’s voice was softer now, and her eyes followed him as he strode from the doorway to window.

She knew instinctively he was watching the ancient keep prepare for the night. The castle was old, and was still used as a fortress by this warrior-like earl. The guards would be closing the outer gates now that dusk had arrived, and she would be safely locked inside the walls until he ordered them opened the next morning. “I expect you will accustom yourself to obedience, just as others have.” He turned to face her. “You will undress now, before the evening light completely disappears.”

Beatrice’s mouth opened slightly. The order was hardly proper. However, her delay was unappreciated.

“Now, Beatrice.” His voice lowered a bit. “Don’t make this marriage any more difficult for your body than it already will be. I plan to keep you sore and tender for a good many years in any case. Don’t add black and blue to it by your own impertinence.”

Beatrice’s fingers shook as she untied the fastenings on the gown. She closed her eyes when it fell to the floor, and blushed in shameful nudity as he walked around her in a circle, observing each part of her body. She knew it was beautiful, exceptional in color and shape with skin smoothed by scented lotions from the East. Still, it was disquieting to have any man observe her so, especially a man who hated her as much as the earl did. She closed her eyes and mind, pushing out all thoughts of the chamber around her.

The earl saw her eyes close and smiled. She was fascinating, and her skin beckoned to him. He would take great delight in owning her body, both for pleasure and pain. In truth, while he had been forthright with her about his expectations for their married life, he had purposely left out the many pleasures he intended to enjoy in her body. Tonight he would begin to sample some of the divine pleasure he knew his new marriage would provide. However, the pain would always come first for her.

He sat down in his chair before the fire, and spoke to her. “Come here, Beatrice.”

Her eyes opened abruptly, in surprise, as though she had forgotten he was there. He watched her step hesitantly over her gown, and look down at it longingly.

“Leave it.” The words neither rebuked her nor offered any comfort, but left her still unsure. He could still be gentle or cruel, as he desired.

When she stood before him, he examined her carefully. In front, her shapely breasts were rounded like ready pears. The fruit hung tauntingly close together, and the succulent seeds spoke eloquently about the ripeness of her body. He motioned silently for her to turn. From the back, her legs rode close together, and her buttocks sat pertly atop her thighs. For some reason, the image was decidedly impertinent, though the earl was certain Beatrice did not intend to project that attitude.

He took her wrist and pulled her down on his lap, ignoring her startled gasp. “One thing you must learn immediately, Beatrice, is that I will take great pleasure in beating you. As much as possible.” He adjusted her hips so that they rested comfortably on his thigh, and swung his hand hard down against her backside.

A splash of pink sparkled in the firelight, and the earl took great delight in the color and in Beatrice’s surprised yelp. “It won’t help to scream, Beatrice,” he reminded her. “No one will cross that barred door to help you, and everyone in the castle knows I intend to beat you as much as possible. No one will help you.”

Just as Beatrice whispered, “I know,” he swung his hand again, causing the second word to become a cry.

“In fact,” he added, “The more you scream and cry out, the more they will know what’s going on between us. Whereas if you’re quiet, no one will know whether you’re being beaten or not.” He added another smack to the center of her bottom, enjoying the gasp of pain. He waited long enough for the sting to begin to cool, and then began in earnest, smacking hard from left to right across the lower portion of her buttocks.

When Beatrice’s gasps had changed from swallowed screeches to pitiful whimpers, he stopped the rhythmic beating of his hand. Carefully, his palm smoothed over the edges of fiery red rump, and he smiled to himself. Darkness had fallen outside, but the fire still glowed and he could see the burning embers of the fire in her backside would sting for some time.

“I am an unforgiving man, Beatrice, as you well know,” he began softly, fingering the curve between her bottom and upper thigh. She wiggled slightly at the unfamiliar touch. “While I take great pleasure in covering your bottom in pain, I have barely even begun to punish you. Tonight being our wedding night, I have more less-painful pastimes to pursue now, but rest assured, you have not even begun to feel the pain your body will learn to accept – maybe even enjoy.”

Beatrice shook slightly. Knowing the earl felt it, she knew it was useless to pretend she wasn’t anxious. “Yes, my lord.” The words were whispered.

One of his hands traced her spine from base to neck as he spoke. “I want you to stand up now, and go over to the bed, and lay back across it, with your burning rump pushed into the coverlet and your legs hanging over the side of the bed.”

Beatrice trembled, struggling to listen to his directions. She knew inside that he would be unrelenting if she did not satisfy his demands. Hesitantly, she stood, her knees still trembling from the stinging sensations that ran from thigh to back.

The earl watched as she carefully laid her body over the velvet cover of the bridal bed. From the shadowed chair, he could smile openly in amusement when she winced. He watched in delight as she bit her lip, unsure if she had done as he had directed, and looked anxiously in his direction. “Spread your thighs, Beatrice,” he said softly, “And stretch your arms out to either side. Show me how you welcome me.”

The position was unquestionably lewd, but Beatrice had no choice. The weight of her breasts jiggled as they found comfortable resting places on her ribcage, and her backside stung as she moved against the luxurious fabric. She clenched her fists, unconsciously, but earl noticed. “Spread your hands out, too, Beatrice, and rest your head against the coverlet. There is no need to look for me. Lay back and rest while I contemplate your lovely young body.”

Beatrice found the commands difficult, for she was nervous about the earl. The beating was painful, but it hadn’t been cruel. She took comfort in the fact and rested her head back against the coverlet. Slowly, her hands stretched out until her palms rested upwards and her fingers stretched. The position was not uncomfortable, though Beatrice wished desperately that the earl had not ordered her legs apart. The revelation of her most intimate parts was somewhat disconcerting, even if it was her husband to whom they were revealed.

The earl found the young body enchanting. With Beatrice’s head obediently back, he knew she did not see him stand, nor hear him walk to stand before her. He stood back several feet, knowing his body heat would attract her attention when he approached. Far from the fire, her nipples were tight with the slight chill in this corner of the room. He knew before the night was over he would take great pleasure in sucking and biting on them. The low light gleamed off the insides of her thighs, and his fingers itched to pinch and even smartly smack the pretty skin. Her legs were strong and shapely, a condition he knew came from Beatrice’s daily ride across the countryside.

He frowned slightly at the thought. Beatrice’s mare was now safely stabled beside his own mounts, but he had made no provision for when she might ride it. He would need to make sure his young bride did not try to flee on horseback, for he knew she was a more daring and experienced rider than any of the grooms who would normally accompany her. The earl reached out, and palmed her knees in each hand.

Startled, Beatrice began to sit up, but instantly realized her mistake. Her body quickly fell back on the bed.

Amused, the earl couldn’t help but chuckle. His hands slid up her thighs, glorying in the fine soft skin. Without hesitation, his hands moved slowly across her hips. He leaned over and gently kissed her navel, his tongue licking at it for a moment before he lifted his head. As his hands stroked the sides of her body, the earl watched the face of his young bride. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth had opened slightly, and he could see that all the senses of her body were awakened.

Without further thought, the earl’s hands rubbed over the sides of Beatrice’s breasts, his fingers reaching out to cup the luscious skin. He pinched her nipples between two fingers in each hand, and squeezed tightly for a moment. Beatrice gasped, and the earl noticed that her fingers turned against the coverlet to dig into the fabric. Gratified, he slid his palms across the underside of each breast until the nipple rested in the palm of each hand. He watched her carefully, his body hardening at her desperate attempts to retain control of her body. He rotated each palm in a circle, rubbing the nipples patiently.

Finally, Beatrice was unable to prevent a low moan. The earl stepped more firmly between her spread thighs, and with a renewed determination, pushed his thumbs against her nipples, then began to rub them back and forth, flicking each nipple with his nail at odd intervals.

Beatrice’s body was stretched taut in her effort to control her movements and sounds, but in the end it was all for naught. When the earl’s mouth covered her left nipple and his teeth scraped over the rosy bud, her arms flew to grip his shoulders and she cried out his name.

He stood up abruptly, his eyebrows raised. Beatrice’s eyes closed in defeat at the expression on his face. “Return to your position, Beatrice,” he ordered softly, knowing she would obey now. “I’m afraid you need a bit more correction tonight.”

sparkle