1
The links in your well-maintained chain mail are shining in the dusking sun. The armor and the cloth gambeson beneath smell of oil, sweat, and pussy. In short, you. It is, as ever, intoxicating as I gently push you back against the wide tree trunk, hard enough to rattle the links, yet soft enough that my gloved grip beneath your jaw elicits aught but a squeak.
"My Lady!" You breathe. "Please!"
One hand beneath your jaw, tight, locking you in, the other resting easily atop the leather scroll pouch at my belt. You meet my gaze for but a moment, before quickly looking down, then back up, uncertain, pleading, longing, then back down. "Please what?" I whisper in your ear as I lean closer.
"Please let me bathe first." It is such a quiet little plea that I almost miss it.
"But I like you dirty."
Your blush lances heat through my clit. I take a single, deep breath, sinking the energy, setting it aside for later.
"You like me however you can have me, my Lady." You dare to look back up at me then. My sweet girl is so brave. "You know that."
I tilt your head up, hold your gaze. I kiss you gently on the lips. Squeeze the fingers beneath your jaw a bit more, just for balance. "Go then." I step back, spin you around in a whirl of pouches and tools, and smack your armor-covered ass. "Just don't wake the whole camp this time."
You turn back—so damned spirited. Aw! My heart. I'm just going to have to punish you that much more later, but I suspect that is your whole point.
Looking back at me, you say, "Beg pardon, my Lady, but I only cried out last time because you stuck your—"
"I. Said. Go!"
How you can both blush and look sullen at the same time, I will never know. But your armor rattles as you sashay your way toward the main fire. For a moment, your teasing silhouette flickers in the flames, dancing like a dakini overhead. For a moment.... Then my eyes slam back down to see you looking back, expectant, still blushing, still sullen.
The energy spark from moments ago tingles slightly again, deep down. This is going to be the dirtiest of baths, negating the point. But there were probably worse ways to spend the evening, so I begin devising your punishments—plural—as I march you towards our tent.
2
The light from the tallow candles dances in the tent, dancing through the rising steam of the hot bath that you'd had drawn as I sat at my desk, pointedly ignoring your little sighs and groans and moans as you removed your surcoat, then the chain armor with its rattling, polished links, and then the dirty green gambeson beneath. I am very much aware of your roguish, coquettish games. Oh, you'll have my full attention soon enough.
The field tent is spacious, supported by three tall poles, with enough room for the double bed, my field desk, our trunks, and both sets of our field books and journals. All of which crowds around a carpet-covered central ritual circle, which, currently, houses nothing more magical than a large metal tub for your longed-for bath.
"My Lady, I'm ready," you say from behind me. The energetic heat from earlier hums tighter, warmer as I straighten. Deep breath. Controlling. The heat diminishes to a tingle, but I know it is merely biding its time before it rides its way into my soul and then, very shortly afterward, into you. I have to crack a smile at that.
"Come, girl." I stand, pushing the stool under the desk. "My turn." I hold out my arms before you and smirk at your widening smile and the glimmer flashing in your eyes. You undress me slowly, meticulously, and only barely manage to brush yourself up against me a handful of times—your thigh touching mine as you remove my purple-black coat, your hands unnecessarily brushing my shoulder as you unlace and remove my bodice. Your nipples teasing mine as you remove my blouse.
Then you stand before me, eyes to mine, smiling, waiting. I give you a moment, then smirk again. "Skirts," I command, pointing at my black riding skirt and, by extension, the layers beneath. Then I'm naked before you and you, of course, are blushing again. Perfect.
I crook my finger, and you step forward, very close. After a moment, you look up.
I lean in and whisper, "You have been a very good girl the last few days."
Your smile falters ever so slightly. "Only very good? Not very, very good?"
Now I smile. "Hmmm. No. You've been a little too willful. Just a touch, but, well, you see, my hands are tied." I try to sound innocent but that has never been my strong suit, even when I'd been younger. "Although, to be more accurate—yours are." A finger snap and your hands and wrists are bound in silken rope that is held aloft by an invisible, magical hand. A very simple cantrip whose use I always seem to need. Especially with you—but I digress.
A wave and the magic hand leads you toward the tub. You look back at me, a little anxious, mostly longing. The magic hand stops a few feet before the tub and pulls you down to your knees atop the crimson, rush-covered carpet, and then further into a kneeling position with your ass up and on display.
You moan. "But my Lady—what about the bath?"
And with that, I take three steps forward, swing down with the same momentum, and smack your ass with a solid
crack
that most likely woke a better part of the camp. Your cry most likely woke the rest. So much for the admonishment I'd given you to be quiet this time. I'm sure someone will passive-aggressively complain about it in the morning. To be ignored, of course, but I really should perfect that localized wall of silence spell I'd been working on for some time now. Just for these occasions.
"What did I just say about you being a little too willful?" My hand is stinging from the smack, igniting my passion even further.
"Yes, my Lady!" You gasp, looking back, as if trying to bury your face in the carpet. I stand over you for a moment, feeling the sting in my hand slowly recede. Your ass is suddenly very red.
"You will get your bath, but first.... Now, I may have to check my notes, but I do believe I counted eight times that you are...hermmm, willful."
Muffled by the carpet, you say, "It was ten, my Lady."
"Aww! See! You really are such a good little plaything. Thank you, girl. Ten."
You actually muffle-giggle into the carpet, and it is unexpectedly cute. I pull a low, velvet-cushioned stool closer. "Spread your legs." The magic hand is still holding you down to the ground by the rope around your outstretched arms and wrists, but you widen your stance, putting yourself even further on display. You are so fucking wet, your bush nearly slicked down.
"My girl appears to be a little turned on," I tease.
"Your girl likes it when you spank her, my Lady," you muffle-moan. This was turning into a new fetish for me, I think—yet another use for the carpet.
"Well, I guess both of us are prone to understatements."
Smack!
My hand strikes again, over the same red welt that had just arisen. I am very proud to say that I matched red handprint for red handprint—it's the little things in life.
I rub your ass, to soothe your muffle-cries—you are just too adorable—and relish the heat rising from your red skin. Eight. More. Hard. Spanks. One. After. The. Other. Your muffle-cries, your muffle-pleas, your muffle-groans—a whole new symphony that I have just discovered. Travel really does wonders for inspiration.
I slide my fingers up your dripping slit, to your winking ass, just a touch to make you muffle-gasp into the carpet once again. The heat is back, blue-white energy beginning to build again at the base of my spine with a force that I was not sure I could control. Specifically, as your muscles spasm, your ass winks, and your pussy opens as you muffle-pant into the carpet.
A single drop of your wetness crawls in a long strand down to that carpet. And for a moment, the heat almost takes over then and there. But not yet. Not yet!
Snap!
The magic hand lifts you by the rope, lifts you back up to standing, shaking on your legs. I step forward to place a hand at the small of your back as the rope vanishes and you catch yourself deftly on the edge of the metal tub. Another finger
snap,
and the water is heated again with yet another cantrip.
You look back at me, face still streaked from the road—and now the carpet. Waiting. Submissive.
"Good girl. Now, get in."
3
"Yes, my Lady. Thank you. I promise to do as you say," you reply, blushing over your shoulder, before climbing into the tub, and slowly lowering yourself into the water. Your face flinches slightly as the welt on your ass encounters the steamy warmth. My smile widens. You are tingling and blushingly on fire but clearly hornier than ever. I watch with smoldering delight as your breasts float ever so slightly. You look up at me. Again just...waiting.
I breathe the sight of you, the steam, and the scent of the candles, breathe it all in while my eyes crawl up from your breasts to your throat, to your lips, to your dark, expectant eyes. "Well then, I suppose we should get you cleaned up."
Your eyes widen further. "Yes, my lady."
I slowly walk around the tub, the tips of the fingers of one hand lazily trailing in the warm water. You watch me draw closer, your eyes never leaving me, your blush deepening as I reach you. The fingers trailing in the water slowly rise to drop a small trickle upon your head. You close your eyes and lean your head back just slightly. For a moment as I stand over you, above your head, looking down at the length of you, all but your breasts and shoulders dappled by the reflecting water, I am forced to catch my breath.
"My lady?"
"Mmhmm, shhh," I say. My still-wet hand, warm from the water, slips around your throat. The other gently smooths your wet hair, then runs down to your shoulder, to the water, to your breasts. I play with one wet nipple. Tease it. Squeeze it. My other hand tightens a little more.
I lower my hand down into the water, down along your quivering belly. "So, my girl tells me she wants a bath before her Lady can play with her. Isn't that correct?"
"Y-yes, my Lady." Blushing, but so needy.
I lean close as my hand holds your head in place by the throat. Down in the water, my fingers are in your bush.
"Well then, your Lady had better get you clean. Very, very clean." Then I whisper closely, "Inside and out."
