BindingPassion (15 page)

She blushed so beautifully. The high color made her eyes
sparkle all the more.

“So, tell me, Mary. Would you be embarrassed to speak your
wish aloud?”

She met his eyes and reached for his hand below the level of
the table. “Aye, Philip. I would.”

“Good. Come to me tonight. I have something for you, but
it’s not for giving in public.”

“Your gifts have always proved sweet indeed,” she whispered
back to him.

They dug into the mince pies. A group of singers trolled a
few hymns and then the servers brought out the frumenty, the sweet to conclude
the meal. The thick porridge was well set and redolent with cinnamon and nutmeg
also.

Afterwards, the folks broke up into groups to play various
games. The youngsters engaged in more active pursuits, while the elders tended
to go for more sedate card or board games. Philip was impatient to be done with
it and retire in private with Mary, but he did his duty as host, joining in
here and there, offering advice, taking time to wish as many as possible a
“Happy Christmas.”

Eventually the time came, and he was able to retire. Mary
knocked softly a few minutes later. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her
until she grew tense with need and her fingers dug into his back. It took an
effort to put her from him. “A moment,” he said, and went to his trunk. “Since
it’s the first day of Christmas, I have a gift for you.”

He handed her a lovely, fine silk scarf woven in shades of
blue and green. “My lord,” she breathed, staring at it. She ran it through her
fingers, relishing the soft feel of the fabric. “It’s lovely!” Her eyes
sparkled as brightly as he’d anticipated, save that there was a mist of tears
there.

“It will be even lovelier wrapped around your neck or… other
places,” he said.

She looked her question at him, but he just smiled and said,
“Come here, my love.”

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her until she was
sagging against him, again, drowning in the drug of love they shared. She
tasted of wine and frumenty and Mary, a potent combination that had him rather
light-headed as well.

She shivered delicately as he peeled off her gown and shift.
She groaned when he kissed the tip of each breast, drew the nipple into his
mouth and sucked hard enough to make her squirm with the pleasure. He lifted
her into his arms and carried her to his bed. Once he had her stretched out
there, he sat for a moment, admiring her lovely, graceful shape, before he
kissed his way from her mouth down her throat, over her breasts to the crease
between her legs. She moaned and writhed under the tormenting swipes of his
tongue.

Every small, secret corner of her delighted his eyes and his
taste buds.

He took the scarf he’d given her and swished an end of it
across her nipples.

“Oh, oooh,” she said on a long moan that combined surprise
and delight. She grabbed at the bed linens and bunched them in her fists. He
rubbed the fabric across her breasts, then laid it on them and kissed the
nipples through its surface.

Holding each end, he stretched the soft, sleek fabric taut
between his hands and ran the length of it across her breasts, centering it on
her nipples. Back and forth, the material swished against her skin. She groaned
in amazement and pleasure.

He moved downward and wrapped the scarf around her right
thigh, holding the fabric loosely against her. When he slid it up and down that
sensitive area, she bucked and writhed. She cried out his name a couple of
times and gasped as he pulled the silk right up to the top of her thigh then
twisted the length a bit to push it into her slit.

Her entire body tensed into an arch when he slid the scarf
so that it moved over the sensitive pearl at her core. He pulled it back and
forth along the slit, caressing her bud until she squealed and even shrieked.

“Philip,” she begged. “Come into me. I can wait no longer.
Please!”

But she could, and he made her wait while he continued to
torture her, putting the scarf on the other leg and sliding it upward yet
again. Her face contorted with need when the silk again brushed across the
sensitive recesses of her slit. He worked it back to front over the center of
her pleasure until her entire body pulsed with the force of her need. When she
begged again for him to enter, he could no longer hold himself back.

As he buried himself in her warm, tight sheath and watched
her face, he reveled in the way the tension tightened her features. He pumped
in and out until she exploded in spasms that milked the seed from him. Peace
and joy took control of her features as she relaxed from the force of her
pleasure, leaving her softened. Love radiated from the gaze she bent on him.

He knew himself the most fortunate man in the world.

On the second day of Christmas, there was more feasting,
more music, dancing, games, laughter, and sweets to distribute to the children.
Philip spent much of his time participating in various contests, often
eliciting gales of laughter when he joined one or the other of the children’s
amusements. For as long as an hour or two at a time he felt almost like a child
again himself and was remarkably refreshed by it.

That evening, he gave Mary a set of silk ribbons for her
hair. After he’d kissed her thoroughly and slid her clothes from her body, he
stretched her out on the bed and used the ribbons to tie her hands to the
bedposts. She looked at him in mock alarm, but then he stroked and caressed her
until she was sobbing with need and begged him to take her and give her
release. He freed her from the bindings before he buried himself in her hot, tight
sheath.

Philip found that no matter how often he took her, shortly
after it was over, he wanted her again. He wanted her always by his side. Even
when he wasn’t hot and hard with need, he liked to look at her, to feel the
softness of her skin, to hear her laughter, to smell the rose-water scent she
used.

On the third day of Christmas a group of traveling actors
came around and put on a long play recounting the story of the birth of Christ,
the shepherd’s search and then the travels of the Wise Men to find the newborn
Savior. Philip invited them to stay the night at the manor, to participate in
the feasting and merriment.

In the evening, he gave her a comb and hand mirror. He
combed out her brown tresses for her, and the feel of those strands running through
his fingers delighted him. She held up the mirror so she could see what he was
doing and their eyes met in the glass. The sparkle in the green depths of her
gaze was an invitation and a command that as usual made his cock go hard and
heavy.

When he had her naked on his bed, dripping in readiness from
the caresses he bent on her nipples and slit, he asked her to roll over and get
up on her hands and knees. She looked puzzled until he said, “I mean to enter
from behind this night. If you find it too uncomfortable, say so, and we’ll
change.”

But she didn’t object as he used his hands to pull apart the
solid globes of her derriere and fingered her entrance. When he pushed into
her, he found the position allowed an even deeper penetration, and his balls
slapped satisfyingly into the gap between her spread legs.

He could also reach around and caress her breasts and her
quim while he pumped his cock within her.

By the time he was ready to burst, she too was gasping and
pushing back onto him with equal force. As he spilled his seed, the spasms of
her fulfillment pumped him. He spent so hard that for long minutes afterward,
he could do no more than sag over her, head on her back, arms wrapped around
her, with his fingers kneading the irresistible softness of her breasts.

On the fourth day, everyone in the manor engaged in games of
charades and blind man’s buff. They feasted, and drank, and several small
groups held a musical contest. Philip and Mary were named judges and had to
award a small prize to the best musical performance. Though one group was
clearly superior to the others, they wisely refused to judge and gave prizes of
sweetmeats to all the musicians.

His gift to her that day was a gown of green trimmed in gold
that brought out the highlights in her eyes. He had her try it on for him,
swirling in it to show it off. Then he bade her remove it again for him—slowly,
revealing only inches of flesh at a time. Once she was done, he stripped off
his own clothes and took her in his arms. Instead of kissing or petting her,
however, he wrapped his arms around her and guided her around the room in a
light rhythmic step while he hummed a dance melody.

She picked up the tune and joined him, her feet moving in
time to the measures they hummed. Her breasts bounced against this chest while
his cock nudged at her belly. They danced in the nude for some time before they
collapsed on the bed and joined.

On the fifth day of Christmas, several groups of carol
singers and dancers came to the manor. After all had performed, Philip invited
them in for the traditional sharing of Wassail. The warm mix of ale, honey, and
spices rested in an enormous bowl in the center of the great hall. Philip
served the guests himself, ladling out the strong brew into cups and wishing
the guests
waes hael
or “be well,” to which they responded
drinc hael
,
“drink and be well.”

His gift to her was a rose made from stiffened fabric. He
pushed it into her hair, letting the stem rest on her ear, and left it there
when he laid her on the bed, nude but for the flower. He used his mouth more
strongly that night, sucking at and scraping his teeth over her nipples until
she squealed and bucked. Then he turned his attention to her slit. He licked
and nuzzled, explored with the tip of his tongue, and finally pulled the bud
into his mouth. He nibbled and sucked on it until she screamed and the rippling
pulses of fulfillment convulsed her. When he entered her, though, he pumped in
and out until he roused another fire that brought her to release yet again.

On the sixth day, they went into town and visited many of
the craftspeople whose services they used, accepting their hospitality. Their
hosts welcomed them with warmth and generosity. It strained Philip’s capacity
to take a drink of wassail at each stop, but he wouldn’t insult anyone by
declining the offer. By the time they returned to the manor, he was quite
light-headed.

He gave Mary a new girdle of leather, tooled with an elegant
scrolled design. Folded over it also made an effective paddle. She looked
startled when she saw him holding it, but alarm turned to something softer and
inviting as she met his eyes. She undressed and laid herself willing on the
bed, face down, waiting for him.

The trust she showed humbled him. Even so, he worried that
it might remind her of his harsher punishments and was careful to make his
first stroke so light it was a mere caress. She neither jerked nor moved, and
he dared spank harder the next time. She would tell him did she find it
unbearable. But she didn’t, though after five or six strokes from the leather,
her bottom was growing quite pink. She groaned aloud with some strokes, jerked,
wiggled, and squealed. But she didn’t ask him to stop. He smacked harder, until
the girdle was cracking on her derriere, and the flesh went from pink to red.
Finally after he struck lower, just where her thighs and bottom met, she
squealed and said, “Enough, please, my lord.”

He dropped the leather and leaned over to kiss the hot
flesh. Mary moaned in delight and shifted just enough to let him reach a breast
as well. For a few minutes she tolerated his caresses, then she rolled over and
reached for him. He barely got his clothes off before she was pushing herself
against him, and she convulsed in release after only a few strokes of his cock
in her sheath.

On the seventh day, they had a relatively quiet time with
just a few visitors joining them for the evening feast. Most of the household
had gone off to town again, but Mary and Philip remained behind. His gift was a
set of quills and writing paper, but he used the quills in a most unliterary
manner, stroking her breasts and quim with the soft feathery end, scratching
light lines across her nipples with the pointed side. Both made her jerk and
writhe.

The eighth day marked the start of a new year. They attended
Mass in the morning and hung fruit on trees to ensure a bountiful crop for the
coming spring. Anticipating Mary’s reaction to the coming gifts, and
particularly that last, special one, he found himself making a private wish
that they two would also have a fruitful year.

Mary hadn’t known such joy, peace, and contentment was
possible. She still wasn’t sure she believed it was ever meant for her to feel
such, or for more than a brief time, anyway. The manor was in high spirits, the
like of which hadn’t been seen under that roof for many a year. Since her
mother’s death, in fact, some eight years before. Philip’s gifts were a
constant surprise and delight.

She had gifts for him as well, but she held off giving them
to him, mostly because they seemed so mundane compared to his. Wool socks, warm
scarf and gloves, leggings and cloak all seemed terribly ordinary. Since he
appeared to derive as much pleasure from the giving of his gifts as she did
from the receiving, she didn’t see a problem with waiting.

On the night of New Year’s Day, he gave her a jar of
Sandalwood oil. He smoothed the aromatic oil, which she must have cost him a
great deal, over her body, rubbing it into all the creases and folds. She then
returned the favor, leaving them both greasy and smelling wonderful. Though the
oil lubricated his slide into her, it also mean that he tended to slide off her
body as well. They laughed like children at the difficulty.

On the ninth day, it snowed again, and all spent time out in
it. Mary and Philip indulged in a snowball tossing contest, helped to build a
snowman, and made snow angels. He had a bath waiting for them that evening and
he presented her with a bar of sweetly scented soft soap.

To her astonishment, he joined her in the tub, though its
tight confines left little room for movement and forced them close together.
They soaped each others’ bodies far beyond what cleanliness demanded. Their
joining in the tub was somewhat awkward but delightful in its way. Mary sat in
his lap and impaled herself on his shaft while he kissed her wet lips, ran his
fingers into her wet hair and tweaked her breasts.

On the tenth day of Christmas, the children put on a long
pageant of singing, dancing and acting. Philip gave her a pair of slippers of
softest kidskin. She had no idea how he’d managed to get the size so perfect,
but they felt wonderful on her feet. He found another use they fit as well.

When he had her clothes off and her stretched out on his
bed, he rolled her over. She jumped in startlement when he first spanked her
bottom with one of the slippers, though in truth it stung less than the leather
girdle had, feeling more in the nature of a hot, hard caress.

He watched her a moment after each stroke, judging her
reaction. Did she say the word, he would stop. But she had no need yet for
that. The warming strokes burned, but in a way that mixed pain with pleasure.
The heat in her derriere moved directly into her womb and set the fire of need
blazing.

She let him continue to spank her until the blaze in her
bottom demanded soothing. His cock, slicked by the liquid that dribbled from it
and her own juices, provided just the balm she needed.

On the eleventh day, they visited town again, for a parade
of musicians through the main street and a long pageant. Philip gave her a
kidskin purse. Inside she found a set of metal rings of various sizes, all too
big to ride on her fingers but too small for her wrist. She was puzzled by
them.

He gave her a sly, wicked grin and began to strip off his
clothes. Then he showed her how to slide the rings over his erect cock. She had
great fun moving them up and down, on and off, squeezing on a few of the
tighter-fitting ones. He pulsed under her efforts and moaned often,
particularly when her fingers brushed over the most sensitive spots.

He tolerated her play for a while, then hissed, “Mary…stop
now or…”

But she slid a ring down onto his rod, tapping a finger over
the opening at the top as she did so, and he lost control, spraying his seed
onto her.

When his spasms finished, she drew herself up straight and
said, “You naughty boy! Kneel right here and move not!”

When he was in position, she took the purse and slapped his
bottom with the flat leather side of it. A pink mark appeared right away. He
hissed a long breath out, but didn’t move. She spanked him again and again,
watching his bottom grow pink. He moaned once or twice and drew a sharp breath
once, but made no objection. When his flesh was a nice, hot color, and her arm
beginning to tire, she said, “Rise now and prepare the proper receptacle to
receive your seed.”

His attentions to her breasts and slit were eager and as
enthusiastic as she could wish. Not much later he spilled seed again, but into
a much more satisfying place.

Mary lay in bed that night, marveling on all that had
happened, wondering what the next day, the twelfth and last, the Feast of the
Epiphany, would bring. Philip had hinted at something special, but his gifts so
far had all been so wondrous, she could scarce imagine what could be better.
Or, rather, she did have an idea, but feared to let herself hope.

The day dawned bright and clear and there was a new hustle
and bustle to prepare for the final day of the celebration.

Shortly before the feast would begin, Philip called her into
the office and shut the door behind them.

“This cannot wait for this evening,” he said, and handed her
a large wooden chest. Mystified, she opened it, only to find another, smaller
one inside, and yet another smaller box contained within that one. She worked
her way in through six ever smaller containers until she got to the last one,
which sat easily on her palm.

Inside that one, a gold ring rested on a bed of wood
shavings. Philip picked it up before she could, however, and set the box aside
her. Holding both her hands, he said, “Lady Mary Alderwood, will you do me the
very great honor of becoming my wedded wife, as soon as the banns can be called
and arrangements made?”

Tears overflowed her eyes and ran down her face. “Yes, My
Lord Philip of Alderwood. I’d be honored and privileged to be your lady.”

They kissed until the heat rose in an unbearable,
irresistible tide. Philip hoisted her up and sat her on the side of his desk,
pushed up her skirts, freed his rampant cock from the binding of his breeks and
drove it into her. He stroked her quim and tickled her pearl while he pushed in
and out until they came together in an explosive climax that left her limp and
leaning against his chest. She reached up to stroke his cheek, feeling the
beloved slide of his beard beneath her palm.

“Philip,” she breathed, still gasping for air. “I love you.
More than I’ve ever loved anyone before. More than life itself.”

They announced their betrothal at the feast. The gathered
crowd broke into loud applause, stomping, cheering, and yelling congratulations
to them. Mary felt as though she’d just been granted everything she could ever
have thought to wish for, and she moved through the rest of the day and evening
in a haze of happiness. Even the concerned looks on the faces of Sir Thomas and
Sir Peter failed to dim her excitement.

That night, they spent a long, slow time worshipping each
other’s bodies, driving each other close to peaking, then backing off and
stopping for a while, only to resume teasing each other. Then they joined three
times in succession, and for the first time, she remained with him in his bed
instead of returning to her own quarters. She relished lying in his arms, with
his strong, warm body wrapped around her.

Nonetheless, a niggle of worry did slip into her joy. Could
she really deserve such good fortune? Could it last? Few good things in her
life had. Why should this be different? She tried to dismiss those worries as
fanciful imaginings, but they didn’t go away easily.

The household swung right from cleaning up after the holiday
feast to preparing for a Wedding celebration. Mary worried that their supplies
were too low to risk putting on much of a feast for it, but then a series of
wagons arrived, bearing kegs of ale, wine, grain, dried fruits and other
foodstuffs, courtesy of the Earl and Countess of Highwaith. A note from
Rosalind conveyed her joy and delight in the news of the Wedding. Though she
was getting ungainly in her pregnancy, it would not be permitted to keep she
and her husband from attending.

The banns were called in the town church each Sunday. Mary
and Philip each had to stand for endless fittings while the seamstresses worked
on their Wedding clothes. Gifts rolled in, bits of embroidered linen, woven
cloths, carved cups from the serfs, more elaborate presents from the town
craftsmen.

Mary had nearly forgotten her doubts about the possibility
of her joy lasting when the disaster occurred.

It happened so quickly that even afterward, when her life
depended on it, she had trouble reconstructing in her mind the exact sequence
of events, as well as recalling who she saw, where, and when.

She had just entered the great hall. Sir Philip stood at the
far end talking with a few servants. He turned to leave, and something sailed
past her, just barely missing her arm. It glittered as it sped across the open
space. She must have made some sound. Philip turned, and that saved his life.
The knife just skimmed his arm before it buried itself in the wall behind him.