An entry in the Winter Spanks Cold Hands Warm Bottoms Blog Hop (2-4 January, 2014). Comment for your chance at a prize.
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Princess Sofia Molotov unleashed her full shapely pout at the ever stiffer wind and the heavy snowfall that accompanied it. Winter was hard upon them and soon she would be a prisoner in the castle for the rest of the season. Already her father had forbidden her from going out and none of dvornik would be available to escort her on one final adventure.
Luckily Sofia was generally considered too petite to handle the horse-sled alone. Indeed she was so petite that it was her father’s proud boast to prospective suitors that her waist could be encompassed by the span of a man’s hand. A ridiculous claim, she thought, because as narrow as she was it took almost two hands for such a feat. But still, this perception of her frailty only worked to her advantage as so far no one had thought to put her away her sleigh.
Donning snug fawn hunting breeches and a jerkin, she covered the ensemble with a sable coat and a huge fur hat to cover her long dark braids. Then as quiet as a snowflake on water, she made her way through the kitchen entrance to the yard.
Most of the servants were still sleeping on the hard stone floors, with only ragged cast-off coats between them and the chill. Although here and there more industrious serfs were shaking themselves awake to begin the task of making breakfast. But if any saw her then it was none of their affair.
Sofia reached the stables almost without incident, only staggering briefly as she stepped into the biting chill. She was thankful then that a hundred stoats had surrendered their winter coats for hers and pulled her cloak about her. She loved this part and grinned to display a row of perfect teeth in greeting.
As she did so a cloud of breath burst from her throat and tumbled whitish-grey towards the sky. Better still was the creak-crunch of her boots upon a hand’s-depth of snow and she gleefully stamped her feet as she made her way to the stable to enjoy the softly yielded squeak of her steps as she walked.
But it did not go all her own way. Without servants she had to remove her gloves to put on the horse’s harness and the tangy steel burned her fingers as she worked until pins and needles assailed her and she had to allow her hands the retreat of her pockets. In the end it took three attempts to ready the sleigh, but after that it was as easy as runners upon snow. Then she simply slipped away.
Luck was with her that morning as not only did none of the guards see her, but by the time she reached the forest under the castle, the wind had dropped and the snowfall had reduced to nothing but a light flurry.
“Hey you wondrous day,” she yelled to the trees in crisp aristocratic tones, “Catch me if you can.”
It took a moment to breech the line of fur trees, but then she let fly with the whip and sailed on into the crystal white sea of ice with great grey-brown masts of leaf-stripped trees lining her route.
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It was mid-morning and some 10 leagues from the castle another was abroad. Like a great bear, brown-black against the snow, he stepped into the track between the trees and regarded the foolish scar of the nobleman’s runners on the ground.
Who would be about this close to Christmas? Surely not a hunter, he mused. The man sniffed the air and frowned.
The woodsman, Ivan Ivanov, hefted his great axe and studied the tracks. He saw at once that there were no outriders and that the sleigh was running light. Very light, he decided. If the traveller had not clearly been alone, Ivan would have concluded that there was a race in progress. Damn these nobles, had they nothing better to do? He heaved a great sigh, this boded nothing but trouble for him.
For a big man Ivan made good progress as he strode across grizzled white drifts and shards of fallen branches. Another storm would soon come to close the road, he thought and for once he was grateful for the itch of his great black beard.
“As soon as I find this lost fool I will make for the fire and home,” he said aloud and followed his words with a grunt to make the image of a man-bear complete.
Being well used to the forest it did not take Ivan long to track the fool. A mile on there was twist in the path and way became suddenly steep. A woodsman or a hunter on foot would have struggled ably on the slope, but for a single horse hauling, it was hard a gradient.
So it was that the childishly small horse-sled had taken half a tumble and was anchored at the turn. The occupant appeared unhurt however, although like the sled, the person was diminutive in the extreme and for a moment Ivan wondered at the age of the driver.
“About time to,” the figure spoke, betraying herself to be a woman.
Despite the diminishingly small chance of being discovered by a man before either beasts or deadly night frost claimed her, she seemed remarkably casual about his sudden appearance.
“You had best turn back,” Ivan answered, not liking the girl’s tone, but knowing better than to comment.
If she belonged to the landowners noble house she could have him put to death for… well anything really. And from her clipped haughty tones she was clearly highborn.
“I want to get to the mountain,” the girl said as if that explained it all.
A puzzled Ivan was about to ask which mountain she meant when he saw the razor peaks of Urals in a break in the cloud; two days distant in fair weather. He looked at the sky doubtfully.
The girl was pointing now at the highest and sharpest of the peaks in the range as if it were candy in a sweet shop. Ivan’s heart sank. This girl was going to be trouble for him. For one thing there was at least one range of hills between that mountain and where they stood.
“Best you wait to spring then Ma’am,” the woodsman suggested.
“But I want to go there now,” the girl said petulantly.
Ivan eyed the mountain and then the girl.
“The Tsar and all the soldiers in Peter couldn’t take you there before spring,” Ivan offered.
“Don’t you know who I am?” the girl said indignantly.
Ivan swallowed hard and studied the girl. A beauty to be sure, but she had none of the look of a Kelch or Kern. But if he got it wrong she would be offended.
“I am Sofia Molotov, my father is Prince…” she began haughtily, saving him a guess.
Ivan didn’t listen to anymore, the Molotov lands were miles away; his master was her family’s enemy. Was the girl mad? Ivan pulled at his beard. If he took her to Kern Castle he would be freed. He might even be made a dvornik and allowed to own his own serfs.
“These are Kelch lands my lady, but we border my master’s estates,” Ivan told her, “Count Peter Kern.”
Sofia drew a breath and reached for her dagger. It was a small sliver toy and no match for this giant’s axe.
“I can pay you,” she said arrogantly, or at least that was the mood she was going for.
Ivan nodded.
“To take me to the mountain I mean,” she added.
His pale blue eyes were as steel then and they pierced her like the wind.
Her own eyes were a softer clearer blue like the sky, but for all their beautiful nobility she missed the danger in his face.
“I am not beholden to you,” he growled, omitting the token of respect, “For silver I will set your sleigh upright and point you at your father’s lands.”
It was the best course for both of them. Nobles were tricky and even for a chance of a reward it was better to stay out of their business.
“You arrogant pig,” Sofia sneered and drew her dagger.
The pin-like blade bounced impotently off his thick coat and he seized her wrist where it held the silver hilt.
“How dare you,” she wailed, tugging at him like a weasel on a bear.
The dagger slipped from her mitten and found its way to his pocket. It was worth more than a year’s work if he fenced it right.
“Give me that back,” she ordered him, her small fists pounding on his chest until he held her wrists.
“What would your father do if he knew you were in the land of Kelch?” Ivan barked at her.
Her wondrous blue eyes glared at him, but only for a moment. Although she proudly held his gaze, her pout gave her away. She would be whipped so soundly that she would not sit down until halfway to spring. Then she blushed, that would happen anyway once she got home. If father ever finds out I am here he would marry me off to the first bear to come along. She eyed the man who still held her wrists. Even this one, she told herself and prayed that she exaggerated her fate.
“Let me give you a taste of what I would do,” Ivan growled.
He lifted the small noblewoman easily and draped her across his lap as he sat on the seat of the sled. The fur of her coat slid away to part smoothly up the back to expose the pert domes of her sued breeches uppermost across his knee.
Nor did he stop there. Despite the chill he tugged at the leather cords pinning the attire at her nipped waist and quickly unlaced them so that her breeches might be drawn down her alabaster thighs.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked.
“Come now, even for nobility a spanking is always given on the bare,” he chuckled.
“I’ll have your head, I’ll hang you, I’ll…” she raged as she bucked.
By now her smooth pert bottom was exposed to his gaze and the marble perfection was complimented by the hint of blue veins from the cold. As she struggled across his knees the heat of their bodies produced a border of vapour around them, a hazy cloud that captured the forenoon apricity like a halo.
“Is that a request you will make to your father or your father’s enemies?” Ivan rumbled in a heavy baritone.
Sofia’s eyes widened and she realised any option would get this beast gold and her whipped just for the start of her misery.
Ivan didn’t wait for her to consider this and brought his bear-like paw with all the sound and bite of a laundry paddle. The pistol crack of the impact ricocheted back at them off the forest as Sofia was robbed of her breath.
There was no finesse of the governess or scolding pater familial to the spanking. For even as a million clichés of bees and wasps attacked her tail another spank landed she was quickly overcome and bawling for mercy.
“I understand, you win,” she shrieked, “I didn’t mean to… ahh.”
Her bottom held his attention as he laid on rapid spanks, his fingers like knouts finding the curves and noble cleft of her tight once-white bottom; turning it first hard pink and then winter berry red.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please… eeeeeh,” Sofia kicked her legs.
Ivan spanked her until she not only protested her pride away but surrendered it absolutely and began to cry. But he was in no hurry. A sound spanking was tame compared to her threats, tamer even than anything she could expect from friend or foe alike for her folly.
“I’m sorry, I‘m sorry,” she blubbed as the spanking lasted for a good 10 minutes until he set her on her feet.
The two hot berries of her bottom glowed in the snow now and she danced woefully, her eyes like two deep overflowing pools. He was surprised that she did not cover the jet triangle at her front or haul up her breeches as she massaged her wounded tail.
“You…” she spat and then blushed and averted her eyes as she failed to match his.
Ivan folded his arms and studied the girl and the increasingly leaden sky above them. Even the mountains had slipped from view now and the snowflakes that fell made gentle crisp impact sounds as they landed.
Still self-absorbed, Sofia wondered what was redder, her face or her bottom. And the everlasting sting… nothing short of cords burned so. Moreover, it was infuriating that even with this peasant she did not amend her attire until directed, but such was her training. Besides, if this man was anything like her people then she could expect to be resoundingly spanked again for such defiance.
“Now we are in a pretty pickle,” he sighed. “Castle Molotov lies far to the south and you will never reach it alive this day.”
Sofia flushed again, but this time from fear.
“Both Castle Kelch and Kern are both beyond reach too,” he pondered aloud. Not that he could surrender such beauty to either of those dark foreboding places, even if it was his duty.
“Please… I’ll… my father would pay you anything,” she pleaded. “I swear if you return me home you’ll get gold and land enough to be a kulak.”
Ivan tugged at his beard to consider this.
“You think I can bring mountains to you like gifts on a platter,” he grunted, “You say that now, but what happens when things don’t match your foolish notions?”
“Is it really so far to the mountains?” she asked, suddenly feeling a fool.
He nodded.
“You swear to get me home as soon as the storm passes… as soon as you are able?” she asked him shyly.
With another beard pull he gave her an emphatic nod.
She licked her lips and he fancied he saw schemes being hatch behind her eyes.
“On one condition,” he said.
Her hands hovered nervously in front of her still exposed front and she shivered.
“Until that time I will have no preening from you and you will do what you’re told or suffer the consequences,” he told her severely.
One of her hands strayed to her bottom but she nodded.
Just then the wind whipped through the trees like a courtly harp and he narrowed his eyes. As if to support his caution somewhere a wolf howled, quickly answered by another.
Seeing his doubt Sofia said hastily, “I swear it.”
“Then pull up your things and get back in the sled,” he told her, “We might just make my house by nightfall.”
“I think I’d rather walk,” she said ruefully rubbing her bottom.
He snorted in amusement and then said, “There might just be one more chance to get you home by tomorrow.”
“And if not?” she asked. Her eyes widened just a jot in apprehension.
“Then you and I will be together until spring,” he answered with a shrug and then moved over to push at the sled,
“Oh,” she said and then as it sank in more urgently exclaimed, “Oh.”
“Yes well, quite,” he sighed, giving her a significant look over his shoulder.
As Sofia put the last of her clothes in order she felt her heart race. This adventure was much better than a few more days at the castle and there was no chance she wouldn’t be home for Christmas was there? After all she was a princess and everything always came right for her.
“Can I help?” she asked as she followed in his wake.
He gave her a long hard stare and then glanced again at the sky.
“You can cut me three dozen lengths of birch twigs,” he said, tossing her the silver dagger, “About yay long,” he added holding his hands a cubit apart. “It is going to be a long winter and life will be hard for us. I suspect that I will very much need all that you can collect.”
Sofia blushed and glowered at him. But she picked up the dagger and tucked it in her belt. Damn the man and damn the profusion of ready birch trees, she thought. She would feign puzzlement but knew well what he wanted and why. Now he had her word she would think longingly on her father’s cords before the spring, she just knew it.
“You never know,” he said doubtfully, “We might just get you home tomorrow.”
But the chorus of wolves under a low grey sky sang a different tale and Sofia wondered idly if she minded as much as she should.
