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His Chattel (Danielle Fonda)


His Chattel by Danielle Fonda

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Revenge and passion make this Medieval erotic story plot titillating, when the French knight Black Hawk seeks vengeance for the death of his parents. He takes the kille’s wife Lady Sabra as his captive and displays her for all to see as his whore. He hopes it will draw her husband Lord Bascom into battle. Yet, Bascom is an evil coward and both Black Hawk and Lady Sabra are betrayed by the stories evildoing players. Our Lady Sabra is cornered, caught, and sexually imprisoned before she can gasp a breath! Events heat up quickly. If you LOVE darkly sexy knights and adventure, this one is for you. Carnal and Sexually Explicit.

Product type: EBook    Published by:     Published: 06 / 2000

We do not recommend this book for readers under 18 years of age

No. words: 33000

Style: BDSM/Bondage - Content: Very Mild -    Bondage/BDSM and Romance, General Erotica, Spanking and Bondage

Available Formats: PDF  

Current all-time sales ranking: #1379


Excerpt..

Sabra watched with shaking dread as Lord Black Hawk straightened and turned his head in her direction. She vowed in that moment that she could see red fire in his eyes—glaring through the thin black vertical slits of his visor.

He is but a man—But a man! She admonished herself fearfully even as he began to stride heavily toward her. A fearsomely big man! She faltered backward along the wall as Lord Black Hawk stalked her, until she was trapped in the smoky shadows of the furthest corner of the hall. There she stood cornered, unable to halt her body’s shaking, as she realized what strength must be behind this towering lord’s fists. Fists that he would use to beat her! This thought skittered through her mind and had the substance of vivid memories in her minds eye! It caused her to turn away with an anguished cry, until she could hide her face into the corner. Only the brute fist which she envisioned would be equal to her husband’s cruelty did not fall upon her. Yet within moments her shame came swiftly, as the dark lord spoke his caustic words.

"Mon dieu, does all these Bascoms hide as cowards?"

Sabra recoiled at finding Lord Black Hawk’s tenor voice so near to her that his size blocked out all the light as if it were a shroud at midnight.

"Bring a torch, Pascal, so I may see this whoreson’s wife!" Suddenly two gauntlet fists were planted on the wall beside her head! Sabra whimpered in fear and surprise as the massive presence behind her shifted until chain-mail links were forced into her spine. The avenging lord’s voice when he spoke was husky and accented, frighteningly suggestive! "I would examine my personal prize, yes."

Sabra’s mouth filled with the taste of hot male sweat, steaming in a headiness around her, as she clamped her jaw tightly, desperately trying to keep her teeth from chattering. When she knew surely she would suffocate from his male power seeping through her, all around her, the dark lord withdrew his bulk from her spine and stepped backward with an audible chinking of his armor. It was then she could sense the torchlight drawing nearer through her closed eyelids, even though she prayed against it. All the while, horrible thoughts skittered through her mind.

He will not kill me—he will not! He called me prize . . . that-that means he will not sever my head from my body with one powerful stroke of his sword. He will not—he will not—!

"Turn around esclave. Now!"

The dark lord’s bellow so startled Sabra that she jumped around to face him with the word esclave ringing in her ears. Esclave meant slave in French speaking words!

"Are you this Bascom’s wife?" Lord Black Hawk demanded.

Sabra’s frantic gaze darted upward and she panicked when she realized that Lord Black Hawk had removed his helm and they should view each other face to face! Her thoughts frantically bade her to look away—cast her gaze downward—but her eyes would not obey!

The dark lord’s face was a pagan god’s visage . . . fearsome—yet compelling. His features were tanned-skinned and rawboned, and he had earthy-shaded eyes that held no reflection but a deep malice that turned fleetingly to surprise before it was shuttered behind his mahogany irises. His hair was shorter, laying in sweaty waves of stark blue-black ebony, the same color as his full moustache. His jawbone was square with cheekbones that were faintly concaved beneath the strong bone structure outlining them. His nose was a proud hawk’s beak, long and narrow, and his eyelids were heavy-lidded. When he turned his head slightly at some inconsequential sound behind them in the hall, she saw a small gold ring pierced his right earlobe.

"Yes," she finally gasped with her hands clenching in the wool skirting of her burgundy colored over tunic. She tried futilely to catch her voice. "I a-am thee Sir Robert Bascom’s wife, Lady Sabra Bascom."

She was unable to endure Lord Black Hawk’s forceful male visage a moment longer so she lowered her gaze and did not view his powerful, gauntlet-covered hand reach forward to take hold of her upper arm. The surprise of it caused her to yelp in fright just as she realized that it was a firm handling, yet not cruelly bruising as he pulled her forward.

"Non esclave!" he snarled in a heated tenor voice. "You are no more the lady but now Noir Faucon’s whore!"


Excerpt..

Sabra watched with shaking dread as Lord Black Hawk straightened and turned his head in her direction. She vowed in that moment that
she could see red fire in his eyes—glaring through the thin black vertical slits of his visor.



He is but a man—But a man! She admonished herself fearfully even as he began to stride heavily toward her. A fearsomely big man! She
faltered backward along the wall as Lord Black Hawk stalked her, until she was trapped in the smoky shadows of the furthest corner of the
hall. There she stood cornered, unable to halt her body’s shaking, as she realized what strength must be behind this towering lord’s fists.
Fists that he would use to beat her! This thought skittered through her mind and had the substance of vivid memories in her minds eye! It
caused her to turn away with an anguished cry, until she could hide her face into the corner. Only the brute fist which she envisioned would
be equal to her husband’s cruelty did not fall upon her. Yet within moments her shame came swiftly, as the dark lord spoke his caustic
words.



"Mon dieu, does all these Bascoms hide as cowards?"



Sabra recoiled at finding Lord Black Hawk’s tenor voice so near to her that his size blocked out all the light as if it were a shroud
at midnight.



"Bring a torch, Pascal, so I may see this whoreson’s wife!" Suddenly two gauntlet fists were planted on the wall beside her head! Sabra
whimpered in fear and surprise as the massive presence behind her shifted until chain-mail links were forced into her spine. The avenging
lord’s voice when he spoke was husky and accented, frighteningly suggestive! "I would examine my personal prize, yes."



Sabra’s mouth filled with the taste of hot male sweat, steaming in a headiness around her, as she clamped her jaw tightly, desperately
trying to keep her teeth from chattering. When she knew surely she would suffocate from his male power seeping through her, all around her,
the dark lord withdrew his bulk from her spine and stepped backward with an audible chinking of his armor. It was then she could sense the
torchlight drawing nearer through her closed eyelids, even though she prayed against it. All the while, horrible thoughts skittered through
her mind.



He will not kill me—he will not! He called me prize . . . that-that means he will not sever my head from my body with one powerful
stroke of his sword. He will not—he will not—!



"Turn around esclave. Now!"



The dark lord’s bellow so startled Sabra that she jumped around to face him with the word esclave ringing in her ears. Esclave meant
slave in French speaking words!



"Are you this Bascom’s wife?" Lord Black Hawk demanded.



Sabra’s frantic gaze darted upward and she panicked when she realized that Lord Black Hawk had removed his helm and they should view
each other face to face! Her thoughts frantically bade her to look away—cast her gaze downward—but her eyes would not obey!



The dark lord’s face was a pagan god’s visage . . . fearsome—yet compelling. His features were tanned-skinned and rawboned, and he had
earthy-shaded eyes that held no reflection but a deep malice that turned fleetingly to surprise before it was shuttered behind his mahogany
irises. His hair was shorter, laying in sweaty waves of stark blue-black ebony, the same color as his full moustache. His jawbone was square
with cheekbones that were faintly concaved beneath the strong bone structure outlining them. His nose was a proud hawk’s beak, long and
narrow, and his eyelids were heavy-lidded. When he turned his head slightly at some inconsequential sound behind them in the hall, she saw a
small gold ring pierced his right earlobe.



"Yes," she finally gasped with her hands clenching in the wool skirting of her burgundy colored over tunic. She tried futilely to catch
her voice. "I a-am thee Sir Robert Bascom’s wife, Lady Sabra Bascom."



She was unable to endure Lord Black Hawk’s forceful male visage a moment longer so she lowered her gaze and did not view his powerful,
gauntlet-covered hand reach forward to take hold of her upper arm. The surprise of it caused her to yelp in fright just as she realized that
it was a firm handling, yet not cruelly bruising as he pulled her forward.



"Non esclave!" he snarled in a heated tenor voice. "You are no more the lady but now Noir Faucon’s whore!"




Excerpt..

Sabra watched with shaking dread as Lord Black Hawk straightened and turned his head in her direction. She vowed in that moment that

she could see red fire in his eyes—glaring through the thin black vertical slits of his visor.





He is but a man—But a man! She admonished herself fearfully even as he began to stride heavily toward her. A fearsomely big man! She

faltered backward along the wall as Lord Black Hawk stalked her, until she was trapped in the smoky shadows of the furthest corner of the

hall. There she stood cornered, unable to halt her body’s shaking, as she realized what strength must be behind this towering lord’s fists.

Fists that he would use to beat her! This thought skittered through her mind and had the substance of vivid memories in her minds eye! It

caused her to turn away with an anguished cry, until she could hide her face into the corner. Only the brute fist which she envisioned would

be equal to her husband’s cruelty did not fall upon her. Yet within moments her shame came swiftly, as the dark lord spoke his caustic

words.





"Mon dieu, does all these Bascoms hide as cowards?"





Sabra recoiled at finding Lord Black Hawk’s tenor voice so near to her that his size blocked out all the light as if it were a shroud

at midnight.





"Bring a torch, Pascal, so I may see this whoreson’s wife!" Suddenly two gauntlet fists were planted on the wall beside her head! Sabra

whimpered in fear and surprise as the massive presence behind her shifted until chain-mail links were forced into her spine. The avenging

lord’s voice when he spoke was husky and accented, frighteningly suggestive! "I would examine my personal prize, yes."





Sabra’s mouth filled with the taste of hot male sweat, steaming in a headiness around her, as she clamped her jaw tightly, desperately

trying to keep her teeth from chattering. When she knew surely she would suffocate from his male power seeping through her, all around her,

the dark lord withdrew his bulk from her spine and stepped backward with an audible chinking of his armor. It was then she could sense the

torchlight drawing nearer through her closed eyelids, even though she prayed against it. All the while, horrible thoughts skittered through

her mind.





He will not kill me—he will not! He called me prize . . . that-that means he will not sever my head from my body with one powerful

stroke of his sword. He will not—he will not—!





"Turn around esclave. Now!"





The dark lord’s bellow so startled Sabra that she jumped around to face him with the word esclave ringing in her ears. Esclave meant

slave in French speaking words!





"Are you this Bascom’s wife?" Lord Black Hawk demanded.





Sabra’s frantic gaze darted upward and she panicked when she realized that Lord Black Hawk had removed his helm and they should view

each other face to face! Her thoughts frantically bade her to look away—cast her gaze downward—but her eyes would not obey!





The dark lord’s face was a pagan god’s visage . . . fearsome—yet compelling. His features were tanned-skinned and rawboned, and he had

earthy-shaded eyes that held no reflection but a deep malice that turned fleetingly to surprise before it was shuttered behind his mahogany

irises. His hair was shorter, laying in sweaty waves of stark blue-black ebony, the same color as his full moustache. His jawbone was square

with cheekbones that were faintly concaved beneath the strong bone structure outlining them. His nose was a proud hawk’s beak, long and

narrow, and his eyelids were heavy-lidded. When he turned his head slightly at some inconsequential sound behind them in the hall, she saw a

small gold ring pierced his right earlobe.





"Yes," she finally gasped with her hands clenching in the wool skirting of her burgundy colored over tunic. She tried futilely to catch

her voice. "I a-am thee Sir Robert Bascom’s wife, Lady Sabra Bascom."





She was unable to endure Lord Black Hawk’s forceful male visage a moment longer so she lowered her gaze and did not view his powerful,

gauntlet-covered hand reach forward to take hold of her upper arm. The surprise of it caused her to yelp in fright just as she realized that

it was a firm handling, yet not cruelly bruising as he pulled her forward.





"Non esclave!" he snarled in a heated tenor voice. "You are no more the lady but now Noir Faucon’s whore!"






Keywords - click on word to search for more titles

erotic medieval  erotic  erotic medieval romance  erotica  erotic romance  

Best Selling Books This Year By Danielle Fonda

His Chattel

His Chattel

His Chattel

 

 

Best Selling Books This Year By Danielle Fonda

His Chattel

His Chattel

His Chattel

 

 

Author Information

Danielle Fonda began writing Medieval romance. She has moved with great success in the last few years into writing erotic Medievals. She lives in the Pacific Northwest and loves penning earthy historicals.

 


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 Publishers and Independent Authors   

Affiliate Program

Contact Us

Terms and Conditions

Privacy Policy

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This Site Owned By Fiction4Adults - Copyright Ó 2015