Sir George

In the spacious opulence of her room, Alexa climbed up upon the fancily sewn quilt of her canopied four poster bed, little captive tightly secured firmly in her right hand.

“Unhand me, you oafish girl,” he demand, pushing at the restraining fingers, the pressure causing his injuries to complain.

“Oafish?” she challenged, eyes narrowing.

Ceasing his struggle against her unyielding grasp, he looked into her eyes. “I realize my unfortunate condition is a matter of some fascination and probably more than your simple mind can process, but you are positively crushing me with your ham fisted clutch upon my person,” he stated breathlessly.

Frown lines deepening in her face, she shook her hand slightly, “You should be mindful how you address me little one,” she warned.

Snorting, he shook his head, “The size of the man does not diminish the nature of his title. I am still a knight and you shall respect my authority and address me Sir George, lass,” he instructed, his own face stern as he stared proudly at her face.

“Knight?” she chuckled. “You are no more than the size of my thumb,” she scoffed.

“You are required to defer to my position. I say unhand me lest you arouse my ire,” he commanded authoritatively.

Alexa grinned, “Okay,” she said, extending her arm straight outward as she turned the hand holding him over.

Realizing at once her intent was to drop him from this height, he clutched at her index finger. He had already been dropped once from a dangerous altitude, his body still aching. “Not from here,” he bellowed as she opened her hand.

He dangled precipitously from her finger a moment as she shook her hand to dislodge his grip. “You said unhand you,” she giggled as he lost his hold and fell to the soft blanket below.

Fortunately for him, the landing was cushioned, but the landing did remind him of all of his other hurts. Grimacing, he fixed her with a sour expression as he struggled to his feet. “Are you mad girl?” he challenged. “You cannot behave in such an uncouth manner!”

“Cannot? What are you going to do about it tiny man?” she said with a menacing laugh and knocking him about with her index finger.

“Desist, I say!” he asserted angrily, unable to impede her assaultive finger.

“Why you stop me Sir Tiny?” she snickered. “You have a little blade.”

“I am a knight and not some ruffian who would do violence upon a gentlewoman especially in light of your obvious mental frailty and capricious nature,” he said, turning his head and making a dismissive gesture with his hand.

“Mental frailty?” she growled, leaning forward and slapping her hand down a few inches from where George stood, inches to her, feet to him. The force of the blow was powerful enough to lift him completely off the bed almost two body lengths into the air before he crashed back down upon the elegant quilt.

Rolling onto his uninjured side, “Child, is it your intent to vex me or are you possessed of some ill-humored spirit?” he demanded, rising back to his feet, hands on hips, stance defiant as he fixed her with an unimpressed glare.

Tilting her head from side to side, she placed her hands on her own hips and parroted his words back at him, her tone mocking.

“Perchance there is some other person of normal mental faculty available here?” he said, looking toward the door to her room, making no effort whatsoever to conceal the look of disdain on his face.

Leaning forward, she slammed both of her hands down on the bed, one to either side of him once more catapulting him up into the air, keeping them there after he landed and lay looking up at her.

Leaning close enough for him to feel the warm of her exhaled breath and spray of her spittle on his face, “Know this little man, there is only me here and it is in my good favor you must remain. Your continued existence is completely dependent upon my whim. As such, you would be wise to refrain from making mock of me,” she snarled,

 Unimpressed, he scowled, wiping a globule of saliva from his face. “You would be well reminded that you are of gentle birth and that your comportment is entirely unbecoming for one of your standing. You are behaving as a truculent and spoilt child with the temperament of shrew,” he accused.

Rearing back, hands once more upon her hips, “Spoilt?” she snorted.

“Were you of lesser standing, I would turn you over my knee to teach you some civility and manners girl,” he asserted, sitting upright.

Alexa laughed at him. “You would dare to presume?” she challenged.

“Were I myself, I most assuredly would,” he declared.

“Then so be it,” she said, moving forward, looming up over him. “In the interest of administering discipline, I take no affront your hand should contact my bared bottom,” she avowed boisterously, sliding off of the bed and shedding layers of clothing.

Sir George frowned. “What are you doing girl?”

Big grin on her face, “You said you turn me over your knee to help refine my manners. I am simply facilitating myself to receive your counsel,” she explained.

He snorted, “You are demented. I said I would do so if you were of lesser birth and were I not thusly diminished,” he attested.

“Nonsense,” she said, grin spreading evilly across her face, “I have been a naughty girl and am in need of some correction,” she finished, the last of her undergarments removed.

“You’re,” he started, but was silenced when she snatched him up off the bed in her right hand, cupping him in her palm.

Lunging forward, she half lay belly down over the edge of the bed, her pale pink posterior raised as she elevated her right hand above the same cheek of her round bared rump, “Shall I assist you in administering the appropriate number of spanks?” she asked.

Desperately trying to prevent falling from her hand, he looked down, aghast at the prospect. Should she bring her hand down, surely the force would crush him.

Laughing, she brought her hand down.