#348) Lady Godiva

I’ve entitled past posts with names about retold fables, and “relevant for today.” All of those apply to this story, but are already used, so I’ll just use the name of the protagonist. Are you familiar with the key details of this story?
A pretty woman is married to a powerful man. He decides to levy a new tax on the population of their city-state. The woman feels the pain of the people, argues with her husband to recant, but he is resolute. Cynically, he offers to revoke the tax if she will do something preposterous, ride slowly through all the city’s streets on horseback as naked as the day she was born.
She agonizes over this, issues an edict to the city’s people, saying that they are to remain indoors with their window’s shutters closed. Touched by her heroism overcoming her modesty, the population obeys this edict to a person, with one exception. A man named Tom peeked as Lady Godiva rode past. This was the inception of the term, “Peeping Tom.”
All of the above is true. Now, let’s hypothesize. Lady Godiva has totally lost respect for her husband for his lack of empathy in dealing with his subjects, in dealing with her. There is this headstrong citizen, Tom, to deal with. She decides to confront him, travels to his house, this time fully dressed in her finery, this time in a carriage. She hopes that this ostentation will impress Tom with his humble station by contrast. But he sees it only as further evidence of her deceit. She tells her entourage to stay in the street, knocks on his door, then bursts through confrontationally.
“Who do you think you are, sir?” she challenges red-faced, wanting to call him on his rule-breaking behavior.
“Who do you think you are?” he counters. “I saw no such red-faced blush the last time I saw you, when only your long locks clothed your nakedness.”
Being a Lady, she is totally unused to being treated and addressed this way, at least not by someone who is also as high born as she, or higher. She looks at Tom with fresh eyes. He has no pretense, speaks his mind, irrespective of station. As the Lady stares at her adversary, she now sees a ruggedly handsome man, a real man, something she is unused to.
Tom, being who he is, takes it further, “I have to wonder what it would take to make you truly blush, my Lady. We know that nakedness does not trigger that response. I must say that I can see why; you have nothing to be ashamed about being so beautiful…”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she says, secretly elated that he seems to find her as compellingly comely as she does him. He is a worthy chess partner, she thinks to herself.
“What will inspire a true blush in those facial cheeks?” he persists. “If you were mine, I’d turn you across that table and divest you of your gown, and spank your other cheeks! Would a glow in those cheeks make your face blush?”
Her face colors immediately, involuntarily, incredibly. How could he know her deepest secret, a secret she hadn’t even shared with her husband? Godiva is dumbstruck, after a moment recovers enough to blurt, “You wouldn’t dare!”
She regrets saying that right away. It is clear that this man would. He doesn’t care for bull manure. Just like he wasn’t about to let some autocratic edict tell him what he can or cannot do, he takes her statement as a dare, and yes he would. She sees this in his eyes. She wants to reopen his door, make a run for it. He blocks her way.
“I should not be spanked, I’m a Lady!”
His prophecy proves prescient. He takes her by the hand. She does not claw at him with her free appendage. Curiosity about something she’s long fantasized about precludes her from anything more than token resistance. She lets him pull her along as if her arm is a leash and she’s a collared dog. He turns her over the edge of the slab table. He lifts the hem of her brocade gown, and all the gossamer petticoats beneath. He opens the seat of her bloomers, exposing her pale, high born, and high set buttocks.
“Don’t be hard on me…Tom, please..! I’ve never been spanked before…”
“Only until you blush, fair Lady, both fore and aft…”
The first slap makes her jump, makes her body jolt, makes the flesh of her bum ripple, makes her heart skip a beat. He gives her another to the same effect. He sets up a slow, steady rhythm of spanks. The spanking is more sensual than severe, however. Far too soon for either of them, her rear is glowing radiantly and her face is flushed with excitement.
Suddenly, there is a sharp rap on the hovel’s door. It is the captain of her personal guard.
“My Lady, is everything alright?”
“Y-y-yes,” her voice breaks. “The gentleman has kindly served me a little dinner. Please wait patiently.” She looks over her shoulder at Tom.
“You lie with ease,” he admonishes.
“Spank me for it, if you like, while you’re correcting my faults …”
Tom administers ten more swats to her bared flanks, harder than before. It is an epiphany moment for the lass. It smarts, but she wouldn’t have him do it any less forcefully. She is near rapture, the spanking she had long dreamed about is transporting her to the doorstep of bliss.
He stops just short of that portal. All is silent save for their labored breathing.
“Take me…” escapes her mouth unedited, speaking what is in her heart. She knows that her engorged pussy is showing between her thighs, knows that her arousal is clearly evident on these lips, knows that her heady scent permeates the room.
“You are another man’s wife.”
“Does it matter that I haven’t loved him for years? Does it matter that I am falling deeply in love with you?”
Tom shakes his head. “No, you were married in a church, in God’s eyes you are your husband’s.”
“You strike me as a man who questions everything. Is it possible that we were wrong to wed? That He looked away in disgust at our human foibles?”
“No, my Lady. That would just compound the wrong if we were to join…”
“Will you be my confessor, then? Act as my priest, hear the litany of my errors weekly, administer God’s wrath across my backside…?”
Looking at her, her regal garments disheveled, her face radiant, her womanly charms on full display, Tom is powerless to deny her this. He nods. Spanking Godiva has done something for him, too. Something that he thought was long extinguished burns within him.
Lady Godiva stands, puts her clothes aright. She presses her fingertips to her pursed lips, then presses this hand to his mouth, longing to kiss him for real.
“I will see you a week from today at this hour then,” she says sincerely, adds, “I promise to lie continuously, so as to deserve a sound spanking at that time. Until then…” And she sweeps out his door and into her carriage.
Carriage rides were always uncomfortable, what with their poor suspension and the dreadful state of roads. This ride is made even more torturous due to the sensitive state of Godiva’s derriere. Every bump and jostle is like another spank. She draws the window blinds down and pulls up her skirts up to inspect the damage. She isn’t bruised, just pink back there. It had never looked more attractive in her view. She licks her fingertips and applies them to her sex. He’d spanked her very expertly. It was even better across her backside than it was in her imagination. She ponders her time in his presence, her time across his table. Godiva erupts in orgasm from her ministrations. The ride home to her castle from the countryside never seemed so short, so enjoyable.
The week seems to drag on at a snail’s pace, however. She and her husband have long led separate lives, rendezvousing only at dinner each night. Godiva tries to tell him as many plausible lies as possible in these nightly meetings over a meal. If she’d had an archery lesson that day, she’d tell him that she’d gone horseback riding. It became so pervasive that if they were eating beef, she would’ve gladly sworn that it was mutton, if she could’ve gotten away with it. And she did so with a smile on her face, in the most sweet voice. Her husband actually thought that their marriage was working well, better than ever.
On the appointed day, Godiva’s heart is racing. She hadn’t slept well the night before. She dismisses her lady servants so as to be able to dress herself. She feels scandalous by not wearing as many petticoats or any knickers under her floor-length gown. She doesn’t want anything to get in the way of the hardest spanking of her life, certainly not the baring of her anatomy in preparation to receive it. With circumspect inquiry, she discovered that Tom was a silversmith in the village. She seeks-out her husband mid-day.
“My Lord, I think our household is deficient in nice silver for entertaining. I’d like your permission to go into the village to shop for several nice pieces, serving trays and a tea set. I promise not to purchase anything until I’ve shopped around thoroughly and received your blessing…”
“Very well,” he replies dismissively.
Godiva now has an excuse for today’s visit with Tom, as well as many more while she continues to “comparison shop.” She sets out early in her carriage for the countryside, anticipation of the tryst with Tom filling her breast with hope, filling her heart with love, filling her privates with lust, filling the hide of her hind-end with a mixture of longing and dread. She had lied most flagrantly for the past week! What would he do to her?
Outside the door to his shop and living quarters, Lady Godiva says to her driver and guard (less of an entourage than usual), “I may be a while shopping for silver. You may go to the pub down the lane, if you so desire. Be back in two hours for our return to the manor.”
They wait to see that the Lady has gained safe admittance to this shop, and she finds the door locked, no answer to her persistent knocking. Near tears, she climbs back into the carriage out of the hot sun. Had he forgotten their date? If so, how could he? Was he sick, maybe dead? Godiva’s mind races with all the bleak possibilities. Agonizing minutes later, she hears keys jingling outside the carriage. She raises the window-blinds to see Tom unlocking his shop’s door. She gives him a moment to enter and get settled. Then he disembarks her carriage, dismisses her men, and rushes inside.
“Where were you? I feared you were dead!”
Tom looks confused. “You said that we were to meet at the same hour as last time. I had errands to run. It is now three o’clock, exactly when we met last week…”
All that Tom said rushed back to her mind, “Oh! I’m so sorry! You are correct, sir. I was just so anxious to see you again… Er, um, may I start over fresh?”
He smiles. Godiva turns a full circle in place, as if spinning back in time.
“Good day, Father Confessor. I’m pleased to see you again! May I receive your audience?”
Tom crosses to her, relocks the shop’s door, leads her by the hand to the space behind the modest shop, where there was a small bed, a dresser drawer piece of furniture, a smaller table than she had bent across a week previous.
She lowers both her eyes to the floor as she enunciates, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…” Then she raises her skirt with both hands until it is waist high and adds, “Beat me, Father, for I am a liar…”
He sits on the bed. His eye level is even with her revealed pudendum.
“Is that so? Are you repentant for this?”
She raises her eyes to look at Tom, then turns around slowly, making sure that her raised garments reveal her bottom as completely as she had her sex.
“No, I committed the acts, sir. I lied a lot. Daily. I need to be made to feel repentant…”
Tom reaches out to her, helps hold her skirt up as he helps her lay across his lap.
“I see,” he says looking at her pale-skinned posterior. Godiva loves being seen in this way, being made to assume this position, waiting with a sense of urgency as he softly caresses her rounded rump.
“Our last session barely tinged my bum with pink. I’m afraid I need a strict lesson, a harsh seeing-to. I lied to my husband about everything I could, purposefully…”
“I see…” he says again, and his caressing hand is gone, she feels his muscles stretch, realizes too late that he is reaching for the ceiling. He brings the hand down hard.
“Aaah!” she ejaculates in surprise, that one spank stinging more than she remembered her entire thrashing hurt a week ago. Another spank adds to the pain, and another… And they are off and running. It feels like a horserace, just as thrilling. But he is riding her, urging Godiva on with smarting slaps across her flanks, making her heart hammer and her legs kick, making her sweat with exertion, making her lather between her thighs, oh God, she is about to climax…!
Tom stops the beating abruptly, having read her body language, resumes caressing her buttocks, which are now throbbing and screaming and wounded.
“That was your first set. I think you’ll need many sets to feel absolved…”
“You know best, sir,” is all that she dares say. It is so much better across his lap than it was across his table. It is more intimate. She knows that he can feel her rubbing herself against his thigh as his hand crashes down. She feels his excitement against her hip in the form of a massive erection. She squirms, so that her swollen pudendum is all the closer to his muscled upper leg, so that his swollen manhood is all the closer to her bared hip. “I’m ready when you are, sir…”
His hand comes down, and they’re off again, like the second leg of a steeplechase race. The first heat just got them warmed-up, now they are really galloping, swallowing the air in huge gulps, bodies in synchronization, his hand coming down and her legs kicking out, faster, harder. She only realizes that she’s screaming when calloused hand ceases striking tender buttocks. Again he has stopped suddenly just before she can bring herself off against his hard leg.
“Aaah, I am in such a state of agitation, sir!” Godiva whimpers.
“I see that,” he returns.
“I know that it would be wrong to have congress… sexually, but do you think it would be a sin if I touched myself while you thrashed me?” There is unmistakable desperation evident in her voice, as though, if permission is not granted, she will orgasm anyway, without aid of her fingertips. There is something else that Tom must consider, besides her desperate state. He shares her desperate need. His erection is a breath away from erupting, due to her proximity, her stimulating gyrations on his lap, her sweet scent and beguiling whimpers.
He stands her on her feet, bends her over the small, bedside table. She takes a wide stance, so that she can reach beneath her hips to get at her sex.
“Saint Paul said, ‘Sometimes we must sin boldly, so that the grace may abound,’ and he is a better authority than I,” Tom says. He takes his thick razor strap from off the wall by his washstand. If she is going to sin, she is going to earn it…
The strap stroke takes her by surprise, both the loud report and the piercing pain. Her red buttocks bounce under the impact, flex convulsively so that the large muscles tighten, and then relax as if inviting another. The intimacy she enjoyed pressing against him, feeling the contact of his hand on her bared bum, his manly smell, all that has been lost, but in trade, he is vaulting her toward her climax in great leaps and bounds with that damned leather. It really hurts! She knows that he’s marking her, with red welts now that will be purple bruises tomorrow. It thrills her! Her fingers are playing her internal touchpoints expertly. She is a madrigal and her sex is her lute. Godiva is strumming her pussy, fretting her frets. Godiva is singing, her voice getting higher as her fingers work faster. Tom works her big buttocks with the belt as if it was a bellows, as if he is heating her to a molten state, melting her, until she is just a silvery puddle of her sexy essence. God, it burns! God, it’s relentless! God, he’s merciless! Oh, God!
She cries out, stiffens, faints dead away. Tom had been rubbing the bulge in his breeches with his free hand as he whipped her impossibly erotic arse. Her climax triggers his. He fills the front of his breeches with ejaculate, overbrimming his codpiece with cum. Godiva comes-to, her face flushed and rear radiant, having never looked lovelier, even on her wedding day, even on her wedding night.
“That was the single most stellar experience of my life! We don’t need to be joined in order to make love! Thank you!” she whispers in his ear. She licks some of the copious cum of her cunny from her fingers. With moistened digits, she reaches into his pants and gets some of his cum on them, then licks this off, too. “Someday, I swear to you, our juices will be joined, our sexes will be joined! I am impossibly in love with you! It is enough for now…”
Tom would argue if he could, but feels the same way. Before she left that day, they discussed what it would cost to etch a serving platter and an ornate tea pot in silver. They agreed upon a fair price for his skilled service. They now had a respectable raison de etre for their weekly meetings.
It seems that a precedent has been set. From then on in their weekly trysts, he straps Godiva’s buttocks mercilessly with the strap, then they masturbate themselves to release. They might have lived the rest of their respective lives doing just this, sharing just this much passion, but never sharing intercourse, and been happy. But fate intervened mere weeks later. Lady Godiva’s husband went out one morning on a hunting expedition, true to form, he galloped ahead of his entourage, showing-off his equestrian expertise. His steed stepped in a gopher-hole, toppled over suddenly, breaking the Lord’s neck instantly.
Tears were not shed for the passing of this detested dictator, not by the people of the city-state, not by Godiva. She even visited Tom one week in full black mourning gown and veil, wearing it as she bent across his table and took his strapping. Her fair skin, turned crimson red from the beating, contrasted erotically with the black lace. After he was finished wearing her backside out with the leather, Tom lifted her black veil and kissed Godiva on the lips for the first time. A week later, he lifted her white wedding veil to kiss his new bride. Oh, what a strapping she received that night, as a prelude to their first copulation, in their castle, in their kingdom, in the sight of God, Amen!

9 responses to “#348) Lady Godiva”

  1. Oh, my dear Jean-Marie. You can’t know that I did an apprenticeship as a blacksmith when I was 14. At 16, I then completed an apprenticeship as a silversmith.
    I have the feeling that you are my Godiva.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thank you for this story. It was great as usual.
    Over the course of this tale I believe Godiva achieved several realizations
    1. Tom was a Dominant and she was attracted to that.
    2. Tom could spank authoritatively (it hurt!!)
    3 He could adjust the severity of his chastisement to the situation.
    4 Despite the pain she had reveled in the experience both times
    5. She needed spanking regularly
    6 She was quite resourceful in obtaining what she needed. ie lying, digging numerous gopher holes :)( my addition)
    A truly thought provoking post! Thanx !

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Ah, those “swollen pudendums”…rubbing against thighs as bottoms are reddened!

    The first time I spanked a girl she did that. And not being stupid or unaware, I noticed. I loved it and urged her on!

    My now (obviously a slut*) GF and I talked about it later. She was a bit embarrassed and said she couldn’t help it. And I told her not to be embarrassed because I loved seeing and being a part of it. From then on…!


    * Kidding.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. If all of the tales of history had been written with such in depth information I am positive that I would have been a much better student. Thanks for writhing the way; it should be written. Tip

    Liked by 1 person

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