"Tonight marks a new beginning," I tell myself, staring in the mirror.

My wedding gown, a deep blue adorned with silver threads, glimmers in the candlelight, each flicker reviving memories of a happier time before my father went to war and never returned. It was my mother's dress, from an era before grief engulfed us, when the plague cast its shadow over our lives, taking my mother and three of my siblings.

With all of my brothers deceased, the King seized my late father's land, leaving me with few options. At twenty-five, I was already considered an old maid, so my choices were limited. But fortune smiled on me, although slightly. The man who chose me was not wealthy, and his body was weathered from years of working in the fields, but he was an honest man.

My heart flutters as I wait in our modest bedroom, surrounded by sparse but sturdy wooden furniture. As a virgin, I am both excited and fearful of the night ahead. I trust my husband's kindness and hope he will be gentle as we fulfill our duties to each other. More than anything, I want to honor him and give him a son to carry on his lineage.

A sharp knock echoes throughout the room, startling me. I expect my younger sister to assist me in changing out of my wedding gown and into a nightgown—a simple chemise of soft linen made specifically for this occasion. But the force of the knock tells me it is not her.

"Come in."

The door creaks open, and two city guards enter, their faces stern in the shimmering torchlight. Behind them, a local priest enters, his grey robe brushing the floor with a gentle hiss. My heart sinks as I notice my husband standing at a pace behind them, his eyes cast down and avoiding my gaze.

"What is going on?" I ask, my voice rising in alarm.

The priest steps forward, his face somber as he addresses me formally. "Lady Anne, we come in the name of His Grace, the Bishop. He has invoked his right to prima nocta."

I feel my breath catch in my chest, his words striking me like a physical blow. My husband's gaze remains fixed on the floor, his slumped shoulders telling me more than his words ever could.

"But..." I whisper, my voice trailing off as the reality of the situation sinks in. "Husband," I breathe, my eyes pleading for him to look at me.

When he finally meets my gaze, filled with sorrow and apology, he takes a step toward me, but as he does, the guards grab him and pull him back, halting his advance.

After noticing our desperate looks, the priest speaks with more force. "Lady Anne, please accompany me now or your husband will be detained. Disobeying this decree will result in a fine far greater than the worth of your husband's property," he says.

That would not only leave me and him out on the street, but my younger sister and his elderly parents as well. Frozen by the priest's words, I stand conflicted, the gravity of the decision pressing down on me. I don't really have a choice but to follow him.

My heart is heavy as I leave with the priest, and my husband whispers my name but makes no plea for me to stay. We both recognize the agonizing lack of options that determines our fate.

A carriage waits outside, bathed in the cold, silvery light of the moon, ready to take me to the Bishop's residence. The journey is silent, with the carriage's wheels crunching gravel beneath us as we pass through the desolate countryside.

We arrive at a large ascetic structure, its towering silhouette standing out against the night sky—likely a part of the church grounds where the Bishop lives. Three nuns, clad in their somber habits, stand outside the heavy oak door. They say nothing as they escort me inside.

The interior is dimly lit by flickering candles, which cast long shadows on the stone walls, and the air is thick with the aroma of incense and wax from candles burning steadily in the corridors. They lead me into a room where a bath has been prepared.

The nuns quietly help me out of my wedding gown and into the bathtub. Despite the soothing embrace of the warm water, a knot of anxiety remains lodged firmly in my chest as the nuns proceed to cleanse me.

As one nun braids my long red hair, the other lathers my body with soap scented with soothing sage and gently washes away the remnants of my wedding day. It is a novel sensation to be bathed by another.

With gentle, circular motions, she spreads the foam over my shoulders, trailing down to my breasts. The nun's hands, though their touch is mechanical, feel strangely intimate as they glide over my skin. My rosy nipples harden in the cool air in response to her gentle caress, despite my best efforts to contain a shiver of pleasure.

Then two of them move to my sides, pushing my knees apart as a third approaches with a sharp knife glinting in the dim light. My heart races as she shaves my most intimate areas, the cool blade scraping across my delicate skin. Every stroke is precise, removing more than just hair—it feels like a symbolic shedding of my previous self. To be this exposed is terrifying, but I also feel this strange excitement bubbling up inside me as she continues her work with a steady hand.

As the nuns attend to me, their silent efficiency speaks of a ritual they have performed countless times. I feel like an observer in my own body, witnessing a tradition I have never chosen but have been thrust into. The knowledge that the Bishop would claim my virginity, a privilege and duty, weighs heavily on my mind.

When the nuns have finished, they gently lift me out of the bathtub. The air in the room feels crisp against my wet skin, in stark contrast to the water's lingering warmth. They pat me dry with soft cloth, their touches impersonal but gentle, as if I were a sacred object rather than a person.

After drying me off, one nun takes a light robe from a nearby chair. The fabric is delicate, almost transparent, and she wraps it around me with practiced ease. It envelops me, giving the impression of modesty and comfort, despite revealing more than it conceals.

They lead me down a long, dark hallway, with only the echoes of our footsteps breaking the silence. At the end of the corridor, we come to a heavy wooden door, its dark finish adorned with intricate carvings that speak to its age and significance. With a solemn nod, one nun pushes the door open to reveal a sparsely furnished room with a man in his forties sitting on the edge of a large, ornate bed.

I almost don't recognize him as the Bishop without his usual regalia—the flowing, rich purple robe and the heavy golden cross that hangs around his neck. His head is also bare and bold, without the traditional ceremonial mitre. Instead, he wears a simple, unadorned robe that covers his frame modestly. This unexpected simplicity removes the layers of his authority, revealing the human beneath in a way I've never seen him before.

As I enter, the nuns lower their heads respectfully and quietly close the door behind me, the sound of the latch echoing through the stone walls. I'm left alone with the Bishop, and the air is heavy with the weight of the impending event. His eyes meet mine, and I can see the darkness in his gaze as he silently takes in every inch of my body, causing my cheeks to flush pink.

"Do not be afraid, my child. This is a sacred duty," he says calmly, patting the space next to him on the bed.

Despite my reluctance, I approach him and sit beside him, the bed creaking slightly under our combined weight.

He gazes at me with an intensity that feels too heavy to bear, his hand reaching out to gently grasp mine. Despite the lines etched on his face from years of responsibility, there's no denying he's handsome—with a strong jawline and piercing brown eyes that seem to see right through me. I can't help but wonder why he ever became a Bishop. A man like him could have had his pick of admirers. What made him choose this life?

"You are so young and so pretty, Anne," he murmurs. "Each time you visited the cathedral, I couldn't take my eyes off you."

His words make me blush even more, a confusing sense of being both flattered and uncomfortable washing over me.

"I have watched you grow into a beautiful woman," he continues. "A woman I have admired from afar for so long."

My heart pounds in my ears as I struggle to find the right words to respond to his unexpected confession.

"Anne," he breathes. "The guilt has been overwhelming," he admits, his eyes meeting mine in an uneasy stare. "Night after night, I have kneeled in prayer, begging for God's forgiveness, as thoughts of you consumed my mind."

His words only exacerbate the heaviness in the air, making the room feel smaller and more suffocating.

"I did things..." he trails off, unable to meet my gaze. "A Bishop should not indulge in as I fantasized about you."

I sit beside him, frozen, the weight of his secret pressing down on me. To have such a man—a man of God—confess these feelings should feel like an honor, or so part of me thinks. Seeing him struggle with his own demons only makes me want to console him.

"God is merciful and forgiving," I whisper. "This sacred ritual will help cleanse your soul and bring you peace."

He smiles at me, the creases of worry easing from his brow. "Thank you for your understanding, Anne." His fingers lift to caress my cheek, and I stare into his deep eyes. "I had the honor of taking the virginity of many young women like yourself, but none were as special as you, Anne."

My heart skips a beat at his words, and his gaze intensifies as he leans in closer. His breath tickles my lips as he whispers, "You are truly a gift from God."

My cheeks burn as the Bishop's lips press softly against mine, his tongue tracing a delicate path along my bottom lip, a silent plea for more. His left hand cups my face, his thumb brushing my cheek with a gentleness that speaks volumes about the depth of his desire for me.

His right hand slides down my back, pulling me closer to him. I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering close as I surrender to the intoxicating sweetness of his mouth, feeling a new sense of longing awakening within me.

His hand at my lower back urges me even closer until our bodies are pressed tightly together, his heat searing through the thin fabric, and I am powerless against the overwhelming need within me that I never knew existed.

"Oh, how I desired this moment with you, Anne," he murmurs before deepening the kiss.

His hands roam freely all over my body, and I'm consumed by his hunger, his hot breath mingling with mine as his insatiable tongue dances with mine. Every inch of my skin comes alive under his touch, longing to be claimed and marked as his.

As the Bishop's fingers work at the knot of my robe, my heart hammers in my chest. With a gentle tug, he loosens the robe, letting it fall from my shoulders and pool on the bed behind me. I feel completely exposed, my breath catching in my throat as his dark eyes sweep across my body, lingering on the swell of my breasts.

"Divine," he murmurs, leaning closer.

A soft sigh escapes my lips as his mouth finds my neck, his tongue teasing the delicate skin. Then his hands cup my firm breasts, his thumbs brushing over my sensitive nipples, and unashamed moans escape me as I arch into his warmth, craving more as the fire between my legs begins to pulsate.

His lips move lower, leaving a trail of fervent kisses across my chest, and butterflies flutter in my stomach at his gentle but possessive squeezing of my swollen flesh. When his lips touch my breasts, his wet tongue licks and flicks at my sensitive peaks, lavishing them with unhurried devotion.

His mouth closes over one nipple, his warm tongue swirling around it as he suckles. I moan softly as he continues to worship my breasts. His teeth graze lightly over the milky-white skin, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from me before he moves his attention to my other breast, repeating the same deliberate, teasing movements.

The wet warmth of his mouth, the silky caress of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth, and the gentle tug of his lips all combine to create a sensation that makes me squirm beneath him.

"Lie down, my sweet Anne," he whispers.

As my back hits the soft sheets, his lips continue their journey south, kissing and tasting every inch of my skin across my abdomen and down to my thighs. With a fluid motion, the bishop descends to the floor, his eyes never leaving mine as he kneels before me. This feels so sinful, but I can't help but spread my thighs, allowing him a glimpse at my delicate, glistening folds.

His palms slide up my thighs, pushing them further apart as he leans in. "Such a beautiful sight," he murmurs before his tongue presses against the fleshy button of my desire.

"Oh," I moan, clutching the sheets tightly as the tiny bud tingles with forbidden need.

His firm tongue flicks and teases, tracing circling patterns that cause my body to tremble as the tingling spreads through the pulsing walls and fills my entire body with warmth. My breath quickens, and my heart races as a thousand tiny sparks dance across my skin. I have never felt anything like this before.

I arch my back, seeking to embrace this wonderful sensation, to draw it closer, and to offer myself completely. As his tongue delves deeper into my core, my palms press against his bold head, desperate to keep him there.

"You taste like heaven," he whispers before diving in even deeper, lapping at my intimate essence.

With each lick, I feel myself opening up to him, giving in to his adoration, and losing myself in him as my body responds in ways I never imagined. His lips worship me like a devout priest at an altar, reverent and dedicated to my pleasure.

As he pulls away, I miss the warmth of his tongue and crave more of the euphoria he gave me. His eyes meet mine, and I bite my lip to keep from begging him to continue his delicious torment.

He holds my gaze as his fingers gently spread my wetness all over my labia, teasing my throbbing nub with the promise of more pleasure to come.

With a subtle grin, he stands up, takes off his robe, and stands proudly before me, his erection ready to claim my virginity. I notice a tiny clear drop glistening at the tip and wonder how it will feel when he finally enters me, filling me completely with his hardness. I'm worried it'll hurt because his manhood is so large and intimidating, but I want him to be the one to show me what true pleasure is for the very first time.

As he approaches, I move up further on the bed, spreading my legs wider in preparation for his penetration. Sucking on my lower lip, I try to hide my nerves as he positions himself between my thighs.

His eyes lock on mine as he slowly enters me, my walls clenching around him as my virginal hole stretches to accommodate his size.

"Relax, my sweet girl," he whispers. "Let me in."

With a deep breath, I try to relax and let him push deeper into me, the initial discomfort giving way to a combination of pleasure and pain. His movements are gentle, allowing me to adjust gradually to the new sensation.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Take all of me, Anne. I want to bury myself deep inside you."

Breathing heavily, I feel every inch of him filling me up, my core pulsating around his length as he slowly moves in and out of me. With every thrust, he plunges deeper into my wetness, my walls gripping him tightly in response.

"Oh, Anne. You feel so good," he groans.

His movements are deliberate and controlled, at a slow pace at first, building up in intensity as he picks up speed. The sound of my soft moans mingles with his groans, filling the room like a sacred chant. The pleasure intensifies with each thrust, sending me into a frenzy of lust that dissolves every ounce of restraint I had left.

"I'm yours," I moan. "Take all of me."

"I will," he says with a promise. "And I won't stop until you are overflowing with my seed."

His words make my walls clench even tighter around him, and my body craves his essence as if it were the elixir of life itself. I am no longer a young bride, but a woman fully alive in her sexuality. The Bishop's skilled touch and the intensity of his desire awoke something wild within me, primal and untamed.

As his thrusts become more urgent, my moans grow louder, and the room feels like it's spinning out of control. My hands wrap around his back, nails digging into his skin, as he pounds into me with primal force, his pubic bone brushing against mine in a delicious rhythm. It feels like I have become his deity, and he, my devoted disciple, seeks redemption in the depths of my pleasure.

With each thrust, I feel the fiery throbbing from within intensify until it consumes me entirely, sweeping me away on a tide of bliss, blurring my vision. A wail of pure ecstasy escapes my lips as I surrender to the exquisite sensation he's creating within me, and my mind goes blank, unable to process anything beyond us in that moment of raw passion.

My body shivers, every muscle tightening with intoxicating heat as I cling to him, lost in the euphoria of our connection. It's as if my soul has abandoned its earthly vessel and taken flight to a place where only pleasure exists, leaving me weightless and free.

He grunts as he spills himself inside me, and my walls pulsate around him as if trying to milk every drop of his fertile seed. His eyes glaze over as he smiles at me, and I feel a deep bond forming between us while his warmth seeps into my very core, filling me with a sense of completeness. A sense of peace washes over me, a calm that follows the storm of pleasure, and I wish I could stay with him forever.

His expression grows serious as he pulls away, and I feel our mixed fluids pooling between my thighs. My body still trembles, my limbs heavy and boneless, as I watch him walk into the corner of the room, where he has a bucket with water and a cloth. The white fabric becomes tainted with blood as he cleans himself up.

After he finishes, he returns to me with a gentle smile, carrying a clean cloth, and gently wipes me down. My bud is still sensitive, reacting to his attention, and the pleasant buzz hums through my veins. I want to feel him again, relive that intense connection, and lose myself in everything he is.

"Thank you, my angel," he whispers, kissing my forehead before lying down beside me.

I snuggle into his arms, feeling happy after a long time of feeling lost and alone. We lie there in silence, the only sound being the rhythmic sound of our breathing as we savor the comfort of each other's presence. I close my eyes, hoping he will ask me to stay. For him, I would even join the convent if it meant being by his side forever.

"It's almost dawn, sweetheart," he murmurs softly, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. "You need to get back to your husband and consummate your marriage."

"What?" I exclaim in confusion, my heart racing at the realization of what he's suggesting.

"You knew this was a one-time encounter," he says casually. "I'll always cherish our time together, but your future lies with your husband, Anne."

His words hit me like a cold slap in the face, and my mind swirls with conflicting emotions as I try to process them. Clenching my fists, I snatch the robe and wrap it tightly around me, a feeble attempt to shield myself from his indifference.

"I understand," I mumble through gritted teeth as I get up from the bed.

"Good," the bishop says, seemingly unaffected as he tugs on the rope by the bed that activates a bell.

I don't wait for him to finish dressing before I storm toward the door, my fury fueling every step. After hastily slipping into the robe, he trails behind me until he arrives at the door, where I don't even bother to look at him.

He grabs my chin firmly, forcing my gaze to meet his. "Remember, Anne," his words cut through the air like knives, "you must make love to your husband once you return home, while my seed is still inside you. There can't be any doubt about the potential child's father. You know the consequences for bastards."

I nod, attempting to suppress the bile rising in my throat, knowing that the boys become disposable labor and the girls end up as nuns or in brothels.

As he swings open the door, the eldest nun's knowing gaze adds to my sense of dread. I stride past her, every fiber of my being trembling with rage, eager to leave this den of manipulation and forget about the Bishop as I start a new life with my husband.

THE END

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