Reader Advisory: This is a BDSM romance. This book contains spanking, light bondage and D/s themes and brief F/F touching. This is a work of historical fiction, it is not meant to be an accurate portrayal of or guide to how people recover from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. As a work of historical erotic romance, it is also not intended to portray modern BDSM or D/s lifestyles.
If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this post.
Black Dorn - an erotic medieval romance by Daryl Devore.
Heat Rating - 5 hot peppers
Purchased to be trained as a courtesan, Branwyn arrives in a strange new land and begins her daily lesson in the art of bedding a man.
Back from battle, Prince Malack returns to the court of his father. The noble woman chosen to be his bride rejected him and bedded his hated rival. Malack turned his anger onto the focus of battle and increasing the power and wealth of Black Dorn. Until his gaze settles onto the face of the woman who will be his queen.
HOT EXCERPT – that means graphic sex
Malack opened the door to the dune training room then used a light from the hall to ignite a couple of the torches. When he turned, Branwyn had removed her clothing and was kneeling on the floor, arms stretched out before her, forehead resting on the floor. He placed his sword beside her carefully folded gown and waited.
"When I was instructed here, I failed. Duna Trea was very angry with me."
"I remember." Malack pulled a silk ribbon from a shelf and tied Branwyn's ankles to rings attached to the floor. She stretched out, lying flat on the cold stone. He attached ribbons to her wrists and bound them to another ring. "It was not the fear of this, Branwyn. It was your pride." He pushed some pillows under her hips then playfully, but firmly, he smacked a buttock. Her flesh quivered.
Again, his hand made contact with her flesh, but this time it was a caress. As he spoke, he stroked her buttock, slid his hands up and down her inner thighs. "You and your body are two things that appeal to me. Your flesh entices me. I wish to stroke it, kiss it—lose myself in it. But that is not only why I chose you. I want you. I want to protect you. You are in my thoughts when I should be thinking about war. I would watch you—dining in the great hall and would forget to eat. I need you Branwyn. And am truly humbled by that."
He slipped his finger into her pleasure hole. After several strokes, he slid his finger to her clit, rubbed it then returned to stroking her.
Branwyn spoke softly. "When we first met, I thought you were the handsomest man. If I saw you in the castle, my heart would beat faster and heat rose within me. I did not dream of my master. It is you—oh!"
He inserted two more fingers and increased the pace of his stroking.
She had to force herself to focus on what she wanted to say. The joy he created inside her made it difficult to form coherent thoughts. "It is you I dream about. It is you I want."
He stopped and untied the ribbons. Lying spread out before him, Branwyn waited. He stroked her leg. "It was not this you failed. You fought against the person instructing you. He did not deserve to touch you. You should only be pleasured by one who adores you and wishes to be consumed by you." His mouth latched onto a breast and suckled it.
Lifting her from the floor, he carried Branwyn to the strange chair and placed her in it. He tied her wrists to the arms and placed her feet into straps. Her weight was supported on her back and hips leaving her buttocks exposed.
"Yes, please," she cried. "Take me, like...like you took Sasha. Take command of my body. Pleasure yourself like you are the gon-dra (heir to the throne). I am not afraid of you. I only wish to please you."
For a few moments Malack did not move. "Sasha loves pain. We spent many nights here where her flesh was red and blood dripped from her. Still, she still begged for more."
Her eyes grew round. She steadied her voice. "I trust you, Malack."
He kissed her, not with the tender kiss she had become accustomed to, but a rough hungry one. It seemed not to matter whether she responded. He did not caress her or tenderly stroke the pink flesh of her breast. He grabbed both nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and squeezed. Branwyn bit back the urge to stop him. The pain made her hot between her legs.
His hand brushed her buttocks then smacked her with a gentle force. It was not a tear inducing pain, but a temperature rising pain. She felt hot, like the summer sun was shining down on her naked body.
Without warning, his hand cracked across her buttocks. Her yell was involuntary. It had escaped her throat. He repeated his strike, then ran his hand over where he had hit her. His caress removed the sting. He struck again, and caressed her again. This was not the same as when Trea instructed her. That had been a blinding fury of pain, which overwhelmed her into darkness. This she could bear for him.
"Like?" His hot breath grazed her ear.
He spread her lower lips and fondled her clit. He rubbed, licked, and sucked it. The heat between her legs became unbearable. She squirmed against her bonds.
He poured cool oil on her pleasuring place while his other hand roughly spread it around. He slipped his fingers into, but did not stroke her. Instead, he pounded his hand against her. He showed her the large manhood-shaped object she had used in Sasha, then pressed it into her and pumped it back and forth.
Malack's arm ached.
He pinched her nipple, dropped the object and slipped his manhood out of his garments then braced himself on the chair and entered her. His mouth found hers. He forced his tongue into her mouth. Their kiss broke off with a gasp from both.
He pounded with a force that shook the chair. Her loud moans mixed with the slurping sounds coming from her wet pleasure hole and the slapping noise of his flesh against hers. "Surrender now," he commanded, sweating dripping down his face. One last thrust.
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