Page 10 of The Taking of House Westwood

Though his unexpected amorous attentions had caused her to miss her planned rendezvous with the captain of their estate guard, she’d consoled herself with the not one but two orgasms she’d unexpectedly been allowed at her husband’s bidding. Still, her husband’s unexpected use of her had delayed her.

Her dashing, blond captain with his thick cock and hard hands would just have to cool his heels until next time.

The carriage turned off the dirt road, the hooves of the horses clapping on cobblestones. They’d arrived at Westwood Manor.

The carriage followed the roadway through a tall, looming portcullis, which opened onto the green grass of an inner courtyard. The bleached stone walls soared overhead, engendering a feeling of both grandeur and security. Heavily armed men patrolled the crenellated battlements above, the bright red uniforms of the garrison soldiers a striking contrast to the austere gray of the stone fortifications.

The Countess gathered her rich burgundy cloak about her lithe form, allowing the driver to help her down from the coach. The sun was bright, but the air was crisp. Fall was coming fast to the Westlands of Muurland.

Raffer steered the coach over to the stable block, trailing a cloud of dust in his wake, leaving the Countess alone in the courtyard.

Countess Sandra Holstenborg was a regular visitor to Westwood Manor, the familiar nods and curtsies from passing footmen, grooms and maids alike attesting to that fact. She was happy to be there, as always, and was looking forward to some much needed leisure time with her friend Lady Miriam Westwood.

A crowd’s loud cheer arose, echoing off the battlement walls. The Countess turned toward the sound.

“They’re getting an early start this morning, Sandra. Looks like you’re just in time.”

“Miriam!” The Countess spun about, rushing to her friend and embracing her, planting a warm kiss on her soft lips.

The Lady was wrapped in a dark gray ankle length coat, the collar lined with a soft ash colored fur. Her sable locks were wrapped atop her head, a pair of neat carved hair sticks holding it in place. Her radiant grin warmed Sandra’s heart, if not her body, chilled as it was from the long carriage ride. Sandra pulled her cloak tighter around herself.

“Let’s see if we can find something to warm us up shall we?” Miriam winked, extending her arm to her friend.

The huge courtyard at Westwood Manor had more practical uses, such as the spectacle that greeted the two noblewomen. Tucked into a corner of the yard, next to one of the stable buildings stood a simple wooden gibbet, and two sets of worn stocks. A crowd of commoners had gathered round the gibbet, cheering and shouting out ribald comments on the spectacle. A young woman, her dress rucked up to the small of her back embraced the stout wooden pole of the gibbet, her arms lashed around the weathered oak by means of several iron chains. Her sweat-soaked blonde locks hung limply down her back as she sobbed her present misery away.

A brawny man of perhaps thirty stood to one side. In one hand, he held a multi-thonged lash of soft leather, while with the other his fingers traced the patchwork of pink and crimson weals patterned over the forlorn girl’s bare buttocks. She stamped a foot, the generous flesh of her bottom shaking as he pinched a particularly inflamed lash mark between hard fingers.

“Think you’ve had enough, Emma?” He turned to the crowd, his eyes flashing. “What say you?”

The crowd cheered once more. An older man standing near the two nobles, dipped his head toward the handsome woman standing with him. “A fine flogging there, eh Clara? Reminds me of the last time I had you at the pole those many years ago.” He grasped the woman’s hand, and she blushed furiously.

The man with the flogger turned and laced another stroke across the proffered buttocks, eliciting a cry of anguish from the bound woman. She clenched her blazing bottom, her feet pounding the dirt.

“What’s happening,” Sandra whispered to Miriam. “Why is she being whipped in public?”

Miriam shrugged. “It’s one of the traditions I’ve decided to revive. Back when my grandfather ruled these lands, before the magistrate system, the commoners would come to this square to air grievances and work out compromises for their problems. A sort of town meeting, you could say”

Sandra raised an eyebrow, her heart beating faster at the enticing spectacle. “Some compromise.”

Miriam smiled. “They do have creative ways of resolving their, ah, disagreements. The crowds love it though, and they’re grateful for the entertainment.”

“What’s that poor thing done to deserve such a skipping?” In truth, Sandra couldn’t really object, for the sight had her heart pounding and her clit singing. The bound young woman was blessed with a well-fleshed backside, and the sight of the inflamed weals across the smooth firm flesh was a pleasing visual tableau indeed.

“Seems she made a scene in the market earlier this week,” Miriam said, laying a hand on Sandra’s shoulder. “Her husband — that’s him whipping her — wanted her to make amends with one of the vendors at the market. Apparently, he hoped the public setting would prevent his headstrong wife from causing an uproar. He was wrong.”

“What was it all about? Must have been serious to occasion such a penalty.”

Miriam chuckled. “I suppose it depends upon your perspective. It seems the vendor at the marketplace was a former competitor for the husband’s affections, and he wanted to be able to do business with her. Well, his wife would have nothing of it.”

“I can certainly understand that. Cruel man to ask that of her.”

Miriam grinned at her friend. “Indeed. I think it’s diabolical — and delicious.”

Sandra blinked at her friend. “You do?”

“Oh yes, Sandra. It’s obvious he just wanted an excuse to display her charms in public and thrash her bottom for her. I mean look at the girl. She’s delightful.”

“Yes,” Sandra breathed. “She is at that.”

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