The Harvest

by Epona

When Rowan opened her eyes, she was overcome by warring sensations – and a deep sense of confusion.

On the one hand was her deeply relaxed and naked body...lying in sensuous comfort between silk sheets which, though one half had slipped to the floor leaving her right arm and breast exposed to the scented air in the grandly unfamiliar room, was still warm. The fire, she mused, as she turned to look at it, had been well built up the night before and embers still gently glowed in the grate.

Rowan blushed as she considered them, remembering the warmth from the hearth on her glowing flesh. She cast a furtive glance in the direction of her slumbering companion, not even wanting her private remembering of what had happened the night before to be observed. She gulped. The Queen had…had…Oh God!!! Rowan shut her eyes tightly, feeling the colour beginning to rise in her face. The heat of last night's fire had been almost uncomfortable on her rudely naked body lying helplessly over the mauve and gold brocade lap… A lap that had been slightly starchy where the metal threads touched her skin, and soft from the luxurious weave of the main fabric, but which was underpinned by the strength of Her Majesty's muscular thighs.

God! Panic welled up again in the young woman – she had never ever considered what might lie underneath the regal robes – someone of Rowan's station, simply didn't even go there. Besides, the words used to describe the royal personage were either formal and respectful – "Regal, grand, noble, great" – or a humble acknowledgment of an aristocratic virtue – "graceful, elegant, benevolent." Now, experience was adding a more accurate description…"athletic." The Queen was, under all those wonderful layers, gracefully athletic. Rowan stole another glance at the dark hair and sleeping face. Wow. Her breath quickened. She felt ever-so slightly …in love.

On the other hand, she fidgeted slightly, not wanting to disturb the gloriously beautiful woman asleep by her side, her bottom was stinging and the heat was only one degree from being constantly painful. Damn, that woman can wield a slipper!

Who would have thought it? Who would have thought – viewed from a distance on public holidays – that the ruler of all she surveyed, shimmering past in a golden carriage, could deliver the most effective punishment that Rowan had ever received? Forget her grandmother's work-roughened hands and the half a dozen thunderous swats dished out on a regular basis to disobedient youngsters! The Queen had…had…Rowan caught her breath, her body tingling.

The Queen had experience.

Experience…of an entirely different sort. She hadn't just administered a spanking earlier, for it was evident that she had actually thought about, planned and then crafted Rowan's punishment, so that each part of it had allowed time for the apple-thief's rear end to recover, in order to instill a longer, very particular type of lesson….A lesson that had culminated in….The thief felt slightly breathless.

She had been howling, she remembered that though, and this shamed her. At the time she had only become aware of the noise she was making when the terrible ringing of the slipper in her ears, in the room, in her body and on her bottom, had been quiet for a while. Choking, gulping, she had suddenly heard herself in the silence: in the absence of the slapping and in the poised stillness of her Mistress. Had the Queen said 'Hush'? Rowan couldn't remember, she didn't think she had heard it and besides, she may be a thief, a scrumper of the royal fruit – and she may be lying prone across her better's knee, but this little thief still had pride, and lots of it, so she swiftly followed her abrupt silence with a slightly self-conscious, if casual, cough.

A fingertip tapped lightly – once – just above her cheeks.

"Oh, I see." The Queen's voice sounded enigmatic and slightly amused. A cool hand rested on her back. "Young lady, I have just thrashed you for thieving, lying and in refusing to name your companion, disobeying a royal order. Is there anything you wish to tell me?"

"No, Ma'am. Oh! Um…Except I AM sorry and I will never steal your fruit again!"

The fingers slid smoothly across her skin.

"We have already established that. However, as yet, we both know, I feel, that you are not quite cognizant of your crimes, or of your situation. Still, I can hardly expect you, a lowly uneducated peasant, to know my mind….Although I do require you to learn it and quickly too. Failure to do so would be a… mistake." The older woman shifted slightly. "Rise from my lap, wench."

Rowan obeyed, her eyes downcast, not daring to look at her leader. The sheet hung half about her and with a jolt she realized that the Queen was holding it at her shoulder to stop it from falling to the floor. Her eyes flicked up to catch her Lady watching her, waiting patiently and with a fumbled apology, she took the material and held it to herself.

"Go to the corner opposite the bed. Face it and remain there neither speaking nor moving, unless in response to direction from me."

Rowan obeyed, padding across the soft rugs and pulling the sheet around her shoulders so that she was nicely wrapped and covered in the expensive fabric. Rowan had never touched such luxury, never seen it before. She felt herself inconsequentially considering it, or trying to, for the agony in her cheeks was becoming incrementally worse.

"You will not fidget, pain in your bottom or no. One inch closer to the corner please."

There was sound of the chalice being lifted, of refreshment being taken and then the cup being replaced on the silver tray. Then silence.

Silence and Rowan's ragged breathing. What was she doing? What was she going to do? A hot sweet flush between her thighs astounded her. What was that about? In the distance, the sound of the maid, Anna clumping up the stairs, returning to the bedroom, presumably with the clothes her Majesty had ordered, became increasingly tangible within the room. The footsteps arrived loudly on the other side of the door, followed by a polite knock.

"Wait." Her Majesty's voice was calm, assured, quiet. "Rowan. Lift the sheet up to your hips. I wish to see your scarlet rump." As Rowan gulped and hesitated, the tone changed, becoming harder, "Do it now."

Rowan obeyed, pulling the heavy fabric up above her knees, up over her thighs and then painfully up above her burning ass. When the fabric formed a tight belt across the top of her hips she froze, breathing quickly in misery and shame… and… desire…

"Good. Remain as you are." The Queen raised her voice a little, "You may enter, Anna."

The door creaked open.

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