Medieval Woman's Lib

 
Madam, I prithee, summon thy maidservant and have her disrobe thee. I trow, my love, thou, too, must be as inflamed as I.’
 
She regarded him fearfully by the light of the single candle of her bedchamber. His shadow fell long across the flagged floor and danced demon-like upon the tapestried wall. His eyes glistened, reflecting his lust. She clutched her night robes to her breast and shrank from him, horrified.
 
‘Sir, we are but betrothed.’ said Lady Elenore, ‘I shall ne’re cast a clout of my raiment before thee, nay sir, not until we are wed.’ And even then, she thought, with great reluctance.
 
‘But my beloved betrothed, my loins ache for thee with tenderest love, I desireth only to worship thee with my body bringing joy to us both.’ He dropped to one knee in supplication, his silken hose chaffed by the coarse stone floor.
 
‘Sir, I prithee arise and be gone lest thou wakest my parents who lie abed in the next chamber. Wouldst thou have me so shamed?’
 
He beheld her flowing flaxen hair, her slender figure, her long delicate arms and the feather-like fingers that graced them. His heart raced. He must, he would have her this night.
 
Their marriage had been arranged as one of convenience, the castle and lands she would inherit would greatly increase his wealth and power. Her father, having no male heir, was desperate to secure a strong alliance to protect his estate from usurpers after he was gone. Sir Harold Arddon was past fifty, she fifteen but, when she bore him a son, her future and the family lands would be secure.
 
Sir Arddon arose and approached her, his cajoling now replaced by lustful determination. ‘Madam, I wouldst have thee this night and delay no longer our consummation.’ He pushed her onto her bed, his hand slipping up her robe.

She felt his hoary, calloused palm slide up her tender thigh. She was consumed by a deep burning shame as his thick finger with its broken, blacked nail penetrated her, splitting her hymen and causing her to cry out.  
 
He swiftly covered her mouth with his free hand pinning her like a butterfly to a specimen board. ‘Thou wilt obey me madam and bow to my will’ he croaked. He removed his hand and forced his lips to hers. His foul, malodorous breath and probing tongue nauseated her. She reached beneath her pillow.
 
When at last his kiss was ended she pleaded ‘good Sir, wilt thou not show mercy upon a poor maid of but fifteen summers? Wilt thou not forbear until our union be blessed?’
 
He drew his manhood from his breeches and presented it to her. She recoiled in shock and fear at the huge organ with its purple throbbing head.
 
‘This, madam, is Sir Cockledo, my master and this hour to be yours also. We are to be wed in but a week you and I, and I see no reason for delay.’ He pushed up her gown and spread her trembling thighs. ‘Thou wilt have me my Lady’ he said as he climbed upon her.  
 
As he buried his face in her neck, she buried her dagger in his.  
 
Her good father would have to think anew.