The Whipping Girl

Bess was the most popular girl at court. She could make any man in the castle stand at attention when she passed. True, she was not a classic beauty. Her hair was dark and wild, not blond and sleek. Her skin, too, was darker than the milk white ideal popular in the day. Neither did she have a lithe, willowy figure, but more of a plump, thick build. Yet somehow all the men found her beautiful.

She knew why this was, of course. She behaved like a whore.

The ladies at court hated her. Why would they not? There was scarcely a husband or fiancée to be found who had not sampled Bess's treats. This did not bother Bess. She had the protection and favor of Lord Malcolm himself.

Estella, Malcolm's wife ought to have been more appreciative of the service Bess rendered her husband. Bess had been a gift from the bride's father on their wedding day, a whipping girl to stand in for Estella when Malcom's anger was roused against her. You could not expect a lady to be spanked, could you? Of course not. But Bess was young, strong, and had a backside that jiggled pertly when pressure was applied. Happiest of all, she seemed to enjoy serving in this capacity, as the girl had a streak of wickedness in her that few had ever encountered.

At first Malcolm did not take this gift seriously. In time he learned what a spoiled brat he had married and began to avail himself of Bess's services. And if he sampled of her treats...well...why not? Did he not deserve some consolation for having married such a beautifully poisonous shrew as Estella?

And so Bess was untouchable. Figuratively at least. No angry wife or wronged fiancée could exact revenge on her for her affairs. Malcolm was both amused and titillated by the girl's conquests and certainly never tried to conceal his dalliances with her. As for Estella, she found Bess "odious" and many other stronger adjectives, but was helpless to do anything to be rid of her. She tolerated the cheap hussy and hoped that when he spanked her, he spanked her hard.

And he did. But this did not bother Bess who had been used to being knocked around by her stepfather as a girl and had a high tolerance for pain. Besides, there is a great deal of difference between being given a split lip and being given a good, hot spanking. Why would the good lord above have given her such a healthy round posterior if not to be put to good use?

There came one afternoon when she had a chance encounter with Estella, storming down a hall, face red, pretty lips trailing a stream of curse words worthy of a fishwife. Bess ducked aside, narrowly escaping being bowled over by her a she huffed away, followed by a retinue of maids.

Having an inkling that her services might be required, Bess set off for Malcom's study, where she knew he usually was at this time of day. A body guard stood outside the heavy oak door, and wordlessly opened it at her approach, shooting her a knowing smile.

Malcolm was inside, staring broodingly out the window, arms crossed over his chest. He was an older man, gray haired, but powerfully built and still quite handsome. Estella had been furious about being married off to "that dried out old turd," as she had called him to her father. Bess thought him quite as attractive and distinguished as he truly was.

He turned sharply to see who had entered, unbidden, his gray eyes sparking with fury. He smiled incredulously at the sight of Bess's low curtsy and asked, "How did you know to come? I haven't sent for you yet."

"I met my lady by chance in one of the corridors. She seemed upset. I thought that perhaps my services might be needed."

"Estella," he answered darkly, "is a lady in name only."

Bess merely bowed her head, knowing that she was not to speak ill of her betters, even if she did agree. "If my lord requires, allow me to soothe your temper."

"Here?"

It was an unusual venue, it was true. Always before when he had sent for her, it had been to his private chambers, far removed from prying ears of passerby through the public parts of the castle. There he kept a paddle like a small oar that he used to punish Bess for his wife's offences. There was a bed upon which he could mount and ride the plump little witch as well.

"Please my lord, you will not be able to attend to your duties in your present state of anger. I can soothe your feelings and put you in a better frame of mind," Bess encouraged. "Afterward I shall kneel before you and give you the obeisance you deserve. "

Malcolm felt his loins stir, not for the first time since Bess had entered the room. Usually all it took was the sight of her. "And what shall I use to punish you?" he asked, "My hand?"

"If I may," said Bess, moving toward him. Her hand went to the buckle of his belt. "This will serve the purpose."

"I could never punish you cruelly, Bess," he answered, surprised.

"Cruelly? No. You have never been cruel to me, my lord. But you will find that I am stronger than you realize. Let me show you, my lord."

She looked up at him seriously and without fear. If anything, she had about her that flush of wickedness for which she was best known. Smart, well trained girl that she was, she began to undress, quite shamelessly right there in his study, with no regard at all for the open window. First her low cut blouse, which barely concealed anything anyway, freeing her beautiful, heavy, rose tipped breasts. She never wore the underpinnngs other women did, so when she lowered her skirt, she was fully nude. Rounded belly, rounded hips, rounded ass...he had spent many a pleasant time riding her, reveling in her voluptuousness. And her eager compliance.

Why could not Estella be more like her?

The bitch.

Bess kicked her skirt away and arranged herself over his desk, bending at the waist, leaning across it, pushing her big round backside to prominent view. She cast him a querying look over her shoulder.

"My lord? Please?"

He regarded her quietly for a few moments, letting her words ring through his mind. There was a plea to them. Perhaps she needed this as much as he did. Maybe more. "What are you thinking, Bess?"

"It has been very long since the last time, my lord."

"Do you enjoy it when I hurt you?"

"I enjoy...a man who can master me. No other in the castle can." She gave a soft laugh. "And I have searched. I have tried them all."

"So I've heard," he answered dryly.

"Please, my lord?" Bess asked again, her heart pounding. He looked at her so seriously. He did not usually do that. Usually it was over rather quickly, without preamble. The expression on his face was sympathetic, almost soft.

"You love me, don't you?" he asked, with surprised comprehension.

Bess stared back at him from her position over the desk, fearing him for the first time ever. "Yes, my lord," she whispered.

He nodded, apparently to himself. "Then this is for you, Bess. Not for Estella's punishment. Not for my temper. I wish to give you what I see that you want. "

"Will you spank me very hard?" she asked, her voice trembling with both dread and hope.

"Yes, I will. And you must submit to me and stay very still."

"Yes, my lord."

She watched as his fingers deftly worked the belt buckle. There was a look in his eyes that was strange to her. The familiar arousal was there, of course, but so too was compassion mingled with sternness. "My lord?"

"Yes, Bess?" he asked, pausing in the act of folding the thick leather strap in two.

A long pause. It was hard to get the words out. "Do you love me too?"

"More than any woman I have ever known."

"Then please my lord, whip me hard. Master me - I am yours."

She went quite still, dark hair fanning across the wood of his desk, cheek resting on the document he had been working on earlier. She made a beautiful picture. Round, soft, submissive, as a woman should be, awaiting pleasure or pain at his hands. Or both.

Bess had a brief sense of calm before storm in the instant before he unleashed himself on her. The first kiss of pain came as something of a shock as he had rarely given her so hard a lash to begin with before. "Yes my lord!" she gasped with a voice fraught with pleasure and pain. "Whip me hard, please!"

He gave her what she needed, hard and fast. His arm worked powerfully as he thrashed her, falling into a sort of trance. He was only vaguely aware of people passing by outside the window, alternately flinching or lingering in titillation as he punished this notoriously wicked woman. No, this was not punishment, but domination. Mastery. She belonged to him now, more than before.

Bess's thoughts, through a haze of pain and desire, mirrored his. They had reached an understanding. This was the consummation of their relationship. He was still her master, and yet more. He was her love. She was his, and she wanted the marks to prove it. Through her tears, her lips trembled as though in prayer. "Don't stop...please don't stop."

He had wondered if he might be going too far but her pleas spurred him on. Again he drew his arm back to its full reach. Again the strap made her soft flesh quiver. He kept going, giving her what she needed, as her cries turned to screams and then to silent tears of submission. When at last her pink flesh was graced with a single, rosy welt he stopped, dropping the belt to the floor. She was sweating. She was tearful. She was soft and willing. He had to have her. He began working the fastening of his trousers.

Bess, exhausted, felt as she supposed one might feel after an exorcism. She felt quieted, humbled, loved. She slid to her knees, tears still falling and gasped out a soft "Thank you, my lord."

"Spread your legs," came the terse command. A look at his face showed his expression quite feral, as though the wickedness he'd exorcised from her had entered him.

"Please use my mouth for your pleasure," she answered. "I promised when I entered this room to give you proper obeisance."

He paused for a moment, towering over her, eyes dark and wild. "Service me then," he answered, pressing his cock to her lips. His voice was a growl and he had never spoken to her so roughly before. "Take it all and swallow, like the whore you are."

"Yes, my love," she answered, before she found his cock pointedly shoved into her mouth.

She was good at this. It helped that she was short and the angle was good. She had a knack for tilting her head back just right to give a hard cock free passage to her throat. She inhaled him, burying her nose in his curly patch of hair. He held her there with his hand on the back of her head, his balls resting heavily on her chin. Then he released her, and she did her work, her excitement rising amid the throbbing of her backside. She found her pleasure before he did, moaning around his cock, struggling against convulsions of pleasure rocking through her body. Again, his hand stilled her as he emptied himself into her mouth. She sucked with eager greed until he had nothing left to give and then dropped to all fours, gasping.

He leaned against his desk, equally breathless, watching her. "I have marked you as mine. Is that what you wanted?"

"Yes, my love."

"I cannot divorce Estella, you know. It would mean war with her father."

"I do not need to be married to you to love you. Or for you to love me," she answered, looking up at him with conviction.

He reached down, lifted her to her feet. She trembled with exhaustion and emotion. He kissed away a tear.