Chloe on Her Wedding Night
Medieval EroticaHistorical11 min read
A story of Chloe Thomas
Chloe Thomas, twenty-four, is given to Sir Aldric Hawksmere at a keep on the Welsh Marches to bind two holdings. They are alone in the solar after the vows. She teases to see if he is a man or a treaty, and he will not bed her until she asks.
The solar of the keep sat high above the Welsh Marches, and autumn wind pressed the shutters while the fire worked its light across the stone. I was Aldric Hawksmere, twenty-eight years old and knight of this holding, and I had taken vows an hour past with Chloe Thomas. She was twenty-four and given to me to bind two holdings, and she stood in her wedding linen with the chapel still in her hair. The hall below held only adult retainers, and no one would climb the stair while this night lasted. She looked at me as if she meant to learn whether I was a man or a signed peace.
I had felt in the chapel how little of the hour had belonged to her. She spoke first, with a brightness that asked me to prove I was serious rather than convenient.
“You have a keep and a name and a priest who said the words, and I was not asked,” she said, watching my face as she did it.
I stayed where I stood. The fire popped in the grate, and her mouth stayed very still after she had spoken.
“I will not take a treaty,” I told her. “If you come to that bed it will be because you asked, Chloe, and not because they wrote your name beside mine.”
She crossed the floor without hurry and set her palm on the front of my tunic, light enough that I could have stepped back, and I did not. Her eyes held mine with a heat that had nothing of paper in it.
“Then fuck me,” she said, and the brightness had gone out of her voice and left something plainer. “Make it mine, because I will not lie down as a clause in someone else’s peace.”
I covered her hand with mine and pressed until she felt how hard I had grown for her. Her breath caught, and the look she gave me then had nothing of a chapel left in it.
“You asked,” I said, and I heard my own voice go low with the relief of being wanted rather than assigned. “You will get what you asked for, and you will get it because you wanted it, not because a priest told you to endure it.”
I took her down to her knees on the rug before the fire, and she went because she chose to, her hands already at my belt as if she had been waiting for permission to stop pretending. The linen pooled around her thighs and left her shoulders bare to the heat. I watched her mouth while she freed my cock from the cloth, and I felt the first touch of her fingers. She looked up at me once, not shy, and then she licked the head of me with a slow wet stroke that pulled a sound out of my chest I had not meant to give her.
She closed her mouth around me before I could find a clever word, taking me in until I felt the back of her throat work around the head of my cock. I put my hand in her hair without forcing her down, and she made a noise that went straight along my spine and settled low in my belly. She sucked me with a hunger that was not obedience. Spit ran down my shaft and over her knuckles. She used her hand at the base and took me deeper on the next stroke, and I had to lock my knees to stay standing.
The fire painted her cheek and the wet shine on her lips, and I told her she was beautiful like this. She hummed around me as if the praise had pleased her. I felt her tongue work the underside in a filthy, patient rhythm. I felt her throat flutter when she pushed herself farther than was comfortable, her eyes bright with the effort, her hands braced on my thighs. My hips wanted to thrust and I held them still.
When I was close enough that my thighs shook, I eased her back by the hair, gentle, and she let me go with a wet sound that nearly finished me. A string of spit still joined her lower lip to the head of my cock. She breathed hard, her mouth red and used, and she looked up at me as if she were already asking for the rest without spending another pretty line on it.
“On the bed,” I said, and I lifted her because my hands needed her weight.
I got her onto the bed and the linen up around her waist, and she was wet when I put my hand between her legs, slick enough that two fingers slid into her cunt with almost no patience at all. She gasped and opened her knees wider for me, her hips lifting. I kissed her then, tasting myself on her tongue, and she kissed me back. When I took my fingers out she made a sound of loss that I felt all the way through my cock.
“Hold me down,” she said, and she put her own wrists up against the pillow. “I want your weight. I want to feel that I cannot just walk out of this now that I have said those words.”
I took both of her wrists in one hand and pinned them to the bed above her head, and I watched her face for any flinch that meant I should stop. There was none. Her pupils were wide and her mouth was open, and she lifted her hips toward me. I notched the head of my cock against her cunt and pushed in on a single slow thrust that seated me to the hilt, and she cried out, not in pain, her body taking me with a heat and a tightness that made my vision narrow at the edges. I stayed buried in her a moment so she could feel how full she was, and so I could feel her pulse around me, and then I fucked her with long strokes that dragged against the front of her and made her wrists twist in my grip.
She was loud. I kept her wrists pinned and I watched her breasts move under the linen until I dragged the cloth down with my free hand and put my mouth on her nipple, sucking while I fucked her in a rhythm that grew less careful. She came with her cunt clenching hard around my cock, her head thrown back against the pillow, and I did not stop moving. I fucked her through it while she shook and swore and tried to pull her hands free only to push them back into my hold.
“Harder,” she said, when she could speak again, her voice wrecked and certain. “Aldric. Be harder. I asked to be fucked, and I will not have you kind about it now that you have me.”
I let go of her wrists only long enough to turn her onto her belly and pull her hips up off the mattress, and then I took her wrists again and held them in the small of her back while I pushed back into her cunt from behind. She was soaked and open and she pushed back onto me as soon as she had the head of me. I fucked her with a force that slapped my hips against her ass and made the old bed complain against the wall, and she moaned into the pillow and then turned her face to the side so I could hear every filthy sound she was willing to give the night. I reached around her hip and found her clit with my fingers and rubbed her there in time with the thrusts, wet and relentless, and she came again with a cry that sounded like anger and pleasure braided so tightly I could not have pulled them apart.
I could not last after that. I drove in deep and held myself there, and I came inside her in thick pulses that I felt in the root of me and in my teeth, filling her cunt while she clenched and took every drop. I stayed in her until I began to soften, my mouth open on the back of her shoulder, my hand still closed around her wrists because she had not told me to let go and I would not assume the right to release her.
When I did let go she did not pull away from me. She lay there with my spend leaking out of her onto the sheet and her breathing slowly finding a human pace, and she laughed once, quiet.
The night wore on and the fire sank to a bed of red. We drank a little wine from the jug by the hearth, and she sat with her bare legs folded under her and her hair ruined by my hands. I told her the keep would still be here in the morning, and that I had not wanted a wife who vanished into the walls.
“I have not wanted a kind stranger with a title,” she said, and she turned the cup in her fingers. “You did not take me until I asked. That matters. It does not make me yours in my own head yet, but it matters.”
I could have argued the law. I did not. I reached out and wiped a drop of wine from her lip with my thumb, and she let me.
She came back to the bed on her own and climbed over me until her knees bracketed my head.
“You held me,” she said, and her voice had gone low again. “Now I want your mouth, and I want to use it until I am done.”
I took her hips in my hands and brought her cunt down to my face, and I licked her open with a slow filthy patience that made her thighs tremble against my ears. She was still wet with my spend and with herself, and I tasted both, salt and musk and the wine on my own breath. I sucked her clit between my lips and worked my tongue into her in turns, and she rocked on my mouth with a growing selfishness. Her hands found the headboard and gripped. She fucked my tongue in small grinding motions that painted my chin, and when I groaned against her she did it harder. I held her ass and kept her there when her legs began to shake, and I did not let her lift away until she came on my face with a broken, astonished sound, her cunt pulsing against my mouth, her wetness on my cheeks and in the stubble I had not scraped off for the wedding.
She stayed above me until the shaking passed, breathing as if she had run, and then she slid down my body and kissed my chest.
She took my cock in her hand and found me hard again, and she sank down onto me with a hiss of breath that I felt in my teeth. I held her hips to give her something to push against, and she used me without apology. She rode me with her hands braced on my stomach, lifting and dropping until her breasts moved and her mouth fell open on sounds she did not try to pretty. I watched the wet slide of her cunt along my cock each time she rose, and I felt her take me to the root each time she came down.
“Look at me,” she said, and I did, and she did not look away while she fucked herself on me with a steady, filthy roll of her hips. I gripped her harder when she asked for it with the way she bore down, and I let her set the depth and the speed until she was gasping and shining with sweat in the last of the firelight. She came with her forehead dropped to mine, her cunt fluttering around my cock in waves that pulled me after her, and I held her through it and then I let her keep moving, slower, wetter, until I came again inside her with a groan I could not swallow down. She sat on me after, full of me, her fingers tracing idle lines on my chest, and neither of us spoke for a long time.
Dawn came grey at the shutters, and with it a shout from the yard that a riding was called at first light. I would be taken from the keep before the bread was warm, out along the March where men still tested fences and loyalties. Chloe sat up in the wreck of the bed and put her face in her hands, and she wept in a way that had no theatre in it. I reached for her and she let me gather her against my chest. I thought at first that I had hurt her, or that the vows had finally landed with their full legal weight, and then she shook her head against my shoulder and spoke through the wet of it.
“It is not grief,” she said, and her voice was raw and sure even while her face was wet against my skin. “I was angry that I was not asked. Now the anger has somewhere to go, and I can feel it in my body instead of in my throat. I will not be a silent lady in your hall, Aldric. I will not sit still and be grateful for a roof.”
“Good,” I said, and I meant it with my whole chest. I kissed her hair and felt the cost of the night settle where it would have to live between us. The yard shouted again, impatient for its knight. I dressed with her watching from the sheets, and when I looked back from the door she was not pretending she had only been playing at being taken. The riding would take me out into a country that did not care what we had done to the sheets.
