by Jaye Peaches
The reason for her loitering was obvious. His heart had sunk. She was young, as young as the men, and infatuated with the arts he had taught her, and now she was greedy for it. Too needy and not disciplined enough to be left in the company of men. She had not given away her presence, and he was certain they were as shocked as him at her discovery—she had used them covertly for her pleasure. A wanton display of selfishness. A debauched act that was not suitable for a maid, never mind a lady of title. His anger intensified.
Once he had her in the cottage, he would deal with her, but first, he had to remind the three youths about his rules. He strode into the barn, slamming the door behind him. Wisps of straw and hay floated up from the cobbles beneath his boots.
The three of them, now dressed, stood in a line, heads bowed and hats off.
“We’ve done nuffin’ with her, Master,” said Ezekiel.
“I believe you. But if you’d found her, like I had, would you have taken her?” He circled them. “Well?” He thumped Lemuel on the back.
“No, Master...” he stuttered.
“Kurt?”
“Master. I do not.”
“Did not, I hope.” He went over to where the tack hung from the wall and selected the big horsewhip. It had never been used on the obedient Suffolk Punch, Bert, nor on any other animal on the farm. He swung it around and it whistled over their heads.
Ezekiel flinched. Lemuel looked tearful. Kurt, the stoic one, kept still.
“Well, should I reproach you?”
“Master, we didn’t touch her. We will not,” Ezekiel said earnestly.
“I know you haven’t. It’s my intention to remind you not to.” The whip required control, not angry confrontation. What it represented was his authority. He excelled at keeping the tip away from their noses, relying on the whip’s daunting presence to reinforce his message. Dara was not theirs to covet or malign. She was his to protect.
“She’s not your wife though—”
The whip cracked in front of Ezekiel’s face and the lad shrank back.
“Do not say another word.”
Ezekiel had crossed a line, one that was carefully constructed and unbreakable.
“Sorry, Master,” he whispered. “Truly. I shouldn’t have mentioned...” He faltered. Nobody ever said her name.
Tears dripped off the end of Lemuel’s nose. He was shaking.
Matthew lowered the whip. He’d gone too far with his threats. They were good lads, just swimming in the lazy evening sunshine after backbreaking work; it was Dara who had given him grief. More than grief. It was too late, it had happened. He hadn’t wanted them to touch her, not for her sake, but for his. He wanted no man, her husband included, to lay a finger on his sweet girl.
Damnation! He tossed the whip to one side and stormed out of the barn, leaving the men stunned and relieved. He should never have let her stay. She had to go back to her husband before the feelings grew stronger and impossible to contain. He recognised their power, he knew where those thoughts led and how love broke the heart. He was better off alone.
He crossed the threshold of the house and halted. The sight before him was stunning, heart-stopping and conjured a strange feeling of admiration. She was kneeling before the fire, naked, her dusty brown hair swept around her shoulders. Lying across the palms of her hands was one of his belts. She bowed her head and presented it to him.
“Forgive me, Matthew. I was foolish and let my thoughts wander. Please, believe me, I never meant to hurt your feelings by making you think I wanted them. It was only my daydreams, and I should have kept them under control.” She finished her little speech, no doubt prepared while she waited.
Matthew sighed heavily. He changed his mind. He couldn’t possibly let her go, not yet. The time for that would come soon enough. She’d offered him the one thing that he couldn’t resist. His heart ached for her in so many ways, and this was one of them. He yearned to stripe her arse and claim it boldly. Finally, it was time.
He stooped and collected the belt from her. He flexed it, snapping the two sides of the leather together with an almighty crack. She rightly flinched. While with a man he might sweep such an implement back behind his shoulder and land it with the full force of his arm, with her delicate frame, he had to be careful and considered.
Standing over her, ensuring he cast a dark shadow across her pale skin, he contained his natural desire to forgo the spanking and take her immediately. He had his methods, and he knew they worked. “I’m going to do what I said I would. You’ll go over my lap and keep still while I spank you with this belt. Those fine legs of yours will stay down and apart, your hands pressed flat on the floor. You’ll hold that position and keep your tongue still, too. Understood?”
“Yes... Master.” She was gulping air, it seemed, desperately trying to keep her body from turning into jelly.
The words were necessarily harsh. He had over the years determined that lashing with words was as effective as a whip or belt. He admired both her bravery and her trepidation. The combination had dissolved his anger in an instant. However, she must not know of his true feelings. Therefore, he continued his stern lecture.
“You desired those lads, treated them like toys for your pleasure. Do you think that’s suitable conduct for a fine lady?”
“No, Master.” She ringed her hands together. “I was most overcome by their... flesh.”
“Flesh is nought but grass upon a man. You hankered for their loins because you haven’t learnt discipline, and until you do, I shall do it for you.” He picked up the largest of the kitchen chairs and moved it into a space, giving him plenty of room to swing his arm.
“I only thought of myself,” she said tremulously. “I’m thinking of you now, only you.” Her voice softened into a whisper. “How I may serve you with my punishment.”
He suppressed a smile of appreciation. He liked her train of thoughts, they were promising and offered him plenty of scope. She needed to hear what he had in mind, it would do her good to know of his darkest desires, so that she was prepared and willing. If she bolted, he would have to let her go; she wasn’t his, something that continued to trouble him.
He sat on the chair and patted his thigh. “Up and over, lass. While I spank, I’m going to tell you how I shall further your education.”
She crawled to him. It warmed the ache in his balls to see her catlike and demure. She slithered over his lap, slowly and cautiously, watching the hand that held the belt. Her glorious head of hair flopped down into a curtain around her flushed face. She inched her legs apart, and as he requested, she planted her hands flat on the rush matting.
Satisfied she had complied fully with his request, he rested the belt on the arc of her back and proceeded to conduct an examination of her delectable arse. Handling her roughly, which was necessary to continue the illusion of his anger, he prised apart her cheeks and whistled in a low inhale. Her puckered hole was twitching, craving attention and suitably chaste. Previously, in his haste to deliver his spill, he might have poked it at it, but he’d not taken it fully.
“This dainty place will be my pleasure. You’ll pay me back by honouring my wish to claim it wholly. Once I’ve spent my arm on your bottom, you’ll bend over that table. I’ll butter this hole, make it sleek and shiny, then I’ll thrust hard up it. You’ll take it, won’t you?”
Her toes were balanced on the floor, her legs shaking.
“I don’t know,” she said after a considerable pause.
He liked her honesty. “Is it mine to take?”
“Yes,” she said swiftly. “I just don’t know if I can... manage it.”
“Have faith in yourself, I know you can. You might not take pleasure in this first one, but I can tell you, you’ll hanker for it more and more after I work up your appetite. You’ll thank me later. I’m sure that husband of yours will too.” He hadn’t intended to mention him, but Lord Coleman was there, lurking in the shadows of his mind.
“He has shown no interest in any part of
me. What hope have I that he will when I no longer desire him? He’ll only hurt me, now.”
He removed his hand from her soft, quivering flesh. “Hurt you?”
“With his passion, which I will not be able to requite. It is you that I crave now, Master.” She twisted and looked over her shoulder. “Even your punishments do make me lust for you. I wish that it was not so, but it is unfortunately how I feel.”
Minutes earlier, he had marched into the cottage with the intention of dismissing her, and instead, he had allowed her to further her wish to stay, and even if he could not admit it aloud to her, he was overjoyed at her contrite confession. If only there was a way to give her what she wished, but she wasn’t his, a situation that he must honour for her sake, not his. The only means for continuing their peculiar arrangement was to stick to the terms they both had agreed upon when he allowed her to stay—he’d borrowed her. She had to submit fully to him, yield and obey, pleasure his every whim, and do so until she had to return home. If he stood firm, she might see sense and know there was no common future for their pairing. Resigned to his decision, he hardened his heart.
“Aye, I can see the desire burning in them bright eyes of yours and I respect your feelings, lass, but we both know that is not why you are here under my roof. You’re learning, and I’m teaching. In two months’ time, you’ll go back to your husband obedient and artful in ways of pleasuring a man, and you’ll do as you must to honour your vows.” He picked up the belt, doubled it over into a shortened length, and raised it above her arse. “I’m sure his lordship will appreciate my efforts to curb your gluttony for me.”
The first stripe was always the hardest... for both of them.
* * *
The leather burned. One snap of the fold across the apex of a buttock, and she was quelled. Another snap whipped the other cheek, then back again to the first rump. She snatched her breaths between the smacks, fighting to keep quiet, to hold still as he asked.
“That’s a good girl,” he said.
Although she kept her feet on the floor, she wriggled and cursed him in her head. How foolish of her to think that the belt would merely kiss her arse and not leave such heated marks on her skin. He might not use the full measure of his arm, nor the length of the belt, but he had the thick leather wrapped into the stiff form of a paddle and it worked as an equal to the flat of his palm.
“Oh, oh.” She marred the silence, unable to stay quiet. However, he did not reprimand her, nor did he increase the force or pace of his spanking. The rhythm was set and she had to absorb the smarts to the best of her ability.
What alleviated the pain were the interludes when he returned to inspecting her furrow and the tempestuous arousal of her sex. She might not have the means to achieve a climax, but she was suffering with an unfathomable yearning for completion. He fingered her plump folds and snorted, although not in derisory manner, merely as an acknowledgement of her weakness.
“You take this belt well. Perhaps too well. But I shall not rain it down harder just because I’m finding your womanly parts are disobedient. I’m sure your mind is obedient.”
“It is, Master, it is. I do not know...”
“Hush, I understand you better than yourself, I think. A few more to finish the roasting.” He lifted up the belt and cracked it against her beleaguered arse. He worked it around, making each inch of her pay while ensuring he did not strike the exact same spot twice. He was accurate and methodical, and she admired his cautious precision. He truly meant her no harm, only to make the ache worthy of the misdemeanour of coveting his men.
Heat piled on top of heat until her bottom was a furnace and the stings melded into one burning soreness. She remained determined not to flay about or paddle her feet on the floor. Emboldened by her courage, she held off crying out, too. Pausing more frequently, Matthew stroked with the flat of his hand each globe, circling his hand until the pain diminished. Then, satisfied she was not on the verge of violent distress, he aimed a couple more.
“Here’s a spot,” he said somewhat humorously. “I’ve missed it.” He gave the sliver of flesh a whack with the crook of the belt.
Dara simpered in reply. “I don’t think you have,” she retorted, then bit down on her lip. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“I can see fine from up here, lass. And I tell you this spot here is paler than the rest. You’re the colour of raspberry jam all over.”
Finally, he stopped spanking and tossed the belt on the floor. “Ease up slowly and kneel there.” He pointed to the sheepskin rug. “I’ll fetch you a drink.”
She edged over to the soft wool and sank her knees into it. However, she kept her bottom raised up and off her heels. Matthew brought over a tankard of weak ale and cupping the back of her head in his hand, he tipped her chin up and held the tankard to her lips. He fed her the drink in little sips, making sure her thirst was quenched while refusing to fill her stomach with the warm beer. He then took a few swigs himself.
“There. You took that belt well, lass. Be proud. But now, I must test that stamina again. Rise and come to the table.” He had removed all the usual items from the surface: the vase of wildflowers, the bowl of fruit, and the book she had been reading. The space was more than sufficient. He probably thought she might lash out and throw things at him if she had the mind to rebel.
She had no intention of refusing him or running off. She was determined to show him her mettle. If it hurt, so be it. It would not last forever and it couldn’t be as bad as the soreness she felt on the outside. And, she hoped he was right, that she might come to like the indulgence rather than simply endure it for him. As for her husband, she cared not to think about him. He had missed his chance to claim her virginity—more fool him.
She bent and flinched. The wood was cool and her nipples pointed. He nudged her lower until her breasts were squashed against the grain. Then he used his knee to spread her legs until they were a good yard apart.
“Grip the other side of the table,” he told her.
She held fast with the tips of her fingers.
He lay the butter dish on the table next to her and took a good dollop of it on the end of his fingers. Prising apart those buttocks once again, he massaged her tender entrance, circling it with a surprisingly soothing action. The butter melted fast.
She moaned, enjoying the sensation, forgetting for a moment why it was necessary to oil her so thoroughly. She closed her eyes and for the first time since he had entered the cottage, she relaxed.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Nice ‘n’ calm for me.”
He shoved the butter dish to one side, grabbed her hips in his vast hands, and leaned into her. She felt the huge bulb of his pulsating cock at the door. Too big. Far too big. She would burst apart. She batted the tears off her lashes and clawed at the table edge. It would more than hurt. It would render her senseless. Yet, she had to yield, she wanted to give him that pleasure more than anything she could offer him.
She pressed her lips together and held her breath.
* * *
Matthew was ready. His hardened member was as thick as her wrist and glistening with the butter he’d smeared from tip to balls. He grasped her with his legs astride and lowered his hips, then aimed the darkened head of his cock at the tiny puckering.
Tiny. And in comparison, he was a giant. He froze.
He’d done this deed many times before. But he halted those meandering thoughts, fearing to delve into the past and unearth those crippling memories of the woman who had loved submitting to all kinds of depraved acts. There had been ropes, even chains, implements he’d fashioned to accomplish his demands on her. He had gone to great lengths to ensure she had enjoyed things as much as him. But she was gone. There was no point in hankering for what had been when he had sweet Dara to conquer. A virgin who was lying tense beneath him, her red-hot arse on fire, her eyes squeezed shut. Such an innocent...
He staggered back, his hand covering the frustrated curse that escaped his mouth.
> It was wrong, so wrong to treat her so. It did not matter that she was willing and had not run; she was unprepared and likely to hate him by the time he finished fucking her unused arsehole.
“No,” he said coarsely.
She lifted her head and looked over her shoulder. “Matthew?” she said timidly. “Am I not pleasing? I can take it. I will take it.”
He shook his head. “It’s not you. You’re a pretty sight. So becoming. But this,” he grasped his erection, “is not a weapon of punishment. I’ve never used it so before now. It is my greed and imagination that has made me think so. When I first saw you in the mud of the yard, weak and pathetic, I knew I wanted you. Your innocence was too tempting to ignore. I shall not break you. I’m not a man who crushes a woman. I only want to show you...” He took a deep breath. Not love, the word wasn’t appropriate no matter what he felt in his heart. “My appreciation of your devotion to serving me.”
He took her hand and drew her into his arms. The trembling of her limbs, the booming beats of her heart against his breast told him he had been right. She was excited, eager, that was evident, but she was also afraid. Fear had no place in his home.
“Come, lie on the bed, and I shall show you another way. One that you’ll find easier. Lie on your side and draw your knees up. That’s it. Good girl. Take heed of my whispers in your ear.”
While she lay, brave and good-natured, he undressed, stripping off everything. He lowered himself next to her and spooned his body against her back. When he kissed the nape of her neck, she shivered and sighed.
“Yes,” she murmured. “I’m ready now, Master.”
He tested her quim first, using her ripe cunny to tease and bring about an intense relaxation in her muscles. He moved slowly, pausing to savour the depths of her channel, before easing back. With one hand cupped around her mound, he stroked her clitoris, keeping it unhooded and exposed to his tender tickles. At one point, she giggled. He smiled, enjoying how her body moulded to his and the way her breaths shortened into eager pants.
“You fancy a come?” he asked.
