Began here.

The party to celebrate the nuptials of the year was winding down. Most of the guests had already retired to bed and the few that remained were deep in their cups exchanging nonsense and tales of exaggerated glories.

Only the servants remained halfway alert and the few of those that had not been dismissed by the steward stood yawning and longing for bed before the sun showed its face and it was time again to rise.

The shrill screams from the bridal suite shook them to alertness. A few of the pages exchanged grins, being young enough to presume that the cries were of a deflowered maiden. But one of the matrons was concerned enough to consider rousing the king.

Then another wail reassured her. For this one was led by a brittle thwack and the sound of birch on bottom was not to be mistaken. It seems the king’s daughter was in need of taming and Heinrich of the Lowlands was the man to do it the wisest of the women supposed.

For a few long moments there was only the sound of a steady bite of rod on the princess’s naked behind, but then she again announced another sustained impact with a plaintiff wail.

She was taking it well, the senior serving wench judged, for there was no panic in the screams and certainly no begging; not yet. Although it was to be hoped that she would not be too defiant. It was only meet that she should not be too proud.

Within the chamber Elizabeth’s groan was unearthly as the rod stung her bare bottom for perhaps the twentieth time. Already her up thrust curves were red raw and gently scarred by searing instrument of justice, each bite of which burned her seat and soul.

No more, she quietly quailed, both praying for mercy and hoping for a true bastard; as divided in herself as the bottom was split by the tender fire-stung cleft of her rounds.

Heinrich was lost in mastery, his manhood rampant and now freed from his breeches, as naked he lorded it over his wife’s proffered hindquarters. Duty demanded that he take her, but it occurred to him that she should beg for that privilege, perhaps after surrender her other virginities.

Finally the lashing stopped while the prince regarded the heavy russet stained bottom and his manhood strained to burst. Elizabeth was tearful and panting, but her behind was still presented defiantly and she had made no claim for mercy.

“I cannot stop,” he said huskily, it was almost true.

“You have no need,” she replied breathlessly, “You can do anything you want to me, anything.” Her mouth hung open as wantonly as her eyes as her needs overawed her wants.

“Anything? You have no idea what dark dreams…” he could scarce breathe himself.

“Anything,” she begged.

“You cannot know…” he protested, digging deep to reclaim his restraint.

“Oh God, anything,” it was a frustrated sob now.

The thrashing resumed with gusto and in a few moments he had recaptured the fire and set her clawing at the sheets. It was an age before he adjudged her bottom could take little more and then casting the rod aside he fell upon her, taking her first naturally as duty demanded and then as she shrieked in pleasure, withdrew his dew-dripped root and placed it unnaturally as his lust demanded.

“God, oh God, you bastard,” she cried, hardly herself as she bit into the pillow.

“I must thrash you some more,” he told her as he exploded within her.

“I know,” she said and clung to him shedding tears of surrender and contentment.

“Then after more of the same you will get on your knees and…” he said urgently, lost in the magic of it.

“Yes, yes, but is that all,” she said lightly and allowed a teasing smile to play about her lips.

He whispered erotic threats into her ear and watched her eyes widen. At last she does not set the pace, he thought.

“Oh my,” she whispered.

*

The yuletide season was again upon them and Elizabeth sighed frantic notes and accounts set against the orders needed for the preparations. It amused her that both Ingrid and Astrid stood facing the wall with their skirts raised to show the marks of a recent thrashing at Elizabeth’s own hands. Not an unusual occurrence these days, but no less satisfying for that.

At times in recent months Elizabeth had spanked and birched the girls whilst nursing her own sore bottom. Not that they would know that. But it amused the older woman to observe that while her young sister and cousin bemoaned their inability to sit down, they failed to notice their chastisers own reluctance to settle upon a chair.

Still it had been weeks now. Heinrich was away at war and doing well it seemed. He was in no great danger and it was hoped he would return for Christmas. Then he would demand of her that she confess all her crimes so that he might put her in her place.

“If you trust me so little then why not have me fitted for a chastity belt,” she had suggested before he left.

“I hardly think…” he had begunn, but seeing his wife’s eyebrows arched suggestively he became stern. “This time I must trust you, but any mischief while I am away and next time you will bound in steel where it will do you the most good and expect it to prick you well in certain places.”

They embraced passionately, both secretly wondering if they were mad. So long ago now.

God she missed him. She eyed again the two hapless women she had punished and decided that they would suffer more tomorrow, perhaps this time before the court.

“You can remain as you are until bedtime,” Elizabeth said and retired to her own chamber.

It was dark and she pondered the bed before electing to light a candle. She would read a little before sleep.

“Good evening your highness,” said a baritone voice from the shadows.

Startled Elizabeth leapt back before she made out the demonic goat grinning at her. “Krampus,” she gasped.

He bowed.

“Why are you here?” she demanded.

“It is the season and you, as my patron, so to speak, will have the honour first,” he told her.

“The honour?” she was puzzled.

Krampus held up the rod. “I have no other plans until dawn,” he said.

Elizabeth gulped. “Actual dawn or one of your near infinite nights?” she asked, cowed by the sight of the birchen whip.

“Whichever is longest,” Krampus shrugged.

*

The dawn was a very long time coming and by then Elizabeth wondered if she would ever sit down again. The tears shed could have floated a laden cog, but at least she felt cleaned. Nor was she pining for Heinrich’s rod and she suspected she would not again for a few days yet.

To add to her indignity Krampus had sent her to the corner for a good cry and then sat back until the sun had fully risen before he bade her farewell.

Taking one last look at her exposed sore bottom he said, “Holly Berry red, it suits you,” and chuckled.

“You said I was the first of the new Season?” Elizabeth sniffed.

“Yes?” Krampus answered, as he mouthed the window ledge to make good his escape.

“Then you are finished with me?” she asked hopefully.

“For this Christmas,” he laughed, “See you next year.”

End