Contents
Cover
Title Page
About This Book
By Megan Michaels
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
By Megan Michaels
From The Author
Cinch Your Saddle
(The Widow Wagon — Book Three)
Megan Michaels
About This Book
Not even the dry, barren prairie can keep the flower of love from blooming...
Like so many others, tragedy brought Clara to the Widow Wagon. The only life she’d ever known left in ashes, a chance at a new life in the American west was the last option she had. Young and headstrong, Clara wouldn’t let the horrible hand she’d been dealt define her, confine her to the prison of sorrow and loss. No, she’d make a new life, a fresh start in the hardscrabble west, where anything was possible … if you wanted it badly enough. She’d planned for the arduous journey, the unpredictable weather, and the deadly Shoshone. What she hadn’t planned for was one gruff, muscular, heavy-handed Alpha male … who just happened to be the wagonmaster himself.
For Angus, life as the Widow Wagon’s master was an escape — from a life he thought had passed him by, from a past of unspeakable pain and grief. Guarding the lives and hopes of desperate women dreaming of a new beginning in the wide-open west had allowed him the chance to heal, to chart his own course. Doing all he could to give his charges the promise of a brighter tomorrow, he’d never allowed any of that promise, that hope for himself. That is until the day he’d met the fiery, defiant — and gorgeous — Clara.
A grizzled, rough-around-the-edges wagonmaster and a strong-willed, sassy city woman seemed a match doomed from the start, but Angus knew just how to tame that strong will, to bend it to his, to mold, but not break, that spirit that drew him to the beautiful, curvy Clara. It was a journey of a thousand steps — and the first one would be a long, hard bare bottom spanking. But when outlaws kidnap one of Clara’s companions, forcing the widow wagon to halt its journey, the harsh reality of a dangerous, lawless west might prove too much for even new love to overcome.
Publisher’s Warning: Intended for mature audiences. 18 and over only!
This sensuous romance contains explicit sexual situations, spanking, and wax play. This book can be read as a standalone. Enjoyment of the novel will be enhanced by reading the previous entries in the series, but it’s not necessary.
By Megan Michaels
The Service & Submission Series:
Finding Submission
Mastering Inga
The Widow Wagon Series:
Book One: Second Chances
Book Two: More Than She Bargained For
Book Three: Cinch Your Saddle
Published By Stormy Night Publications
What Naughty Little Girls Get
The Little Princess Cruise
Copyright © 2015 by Megan Michaels
All rights reserved.
Cover Design by Rachel A Olson (www.nosweatgraphics.weebly.com)
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and as such, any similarity to existing persons, places or events must be considered purely coincidental.
This book contains content that is not suitable for readers aged 17 and under.
For mature readers only.
Published in the United States of America.
First Electronic Edition: September 2015
Prologue
She stood quietly in the corner, facing the seam in the tent. It was as close to a corner as they could find on the Oregon Trail. When he’d whispered to her that they “needed to have a discussion” and told her to stand in the corner waiting, her eyes had widened, her throat working to swallow. “But why? What did I do?”
“Corner. Now.” Angus had pointed toward their little tent, watching her dash in that direction. He never viewed himself as someone who would be cruel — and he wasn’t — but he knew the anticipation of a spanking excited her, sending her pussy to throbbing, the pulsing muscles working up her natural essence, coating her to excess. By the time he’d made it to the tent and slid his fingers through those puffy lips, she’d be slick and ready. He’d pull away from her warm, moist quim, her spicy scent filling the air. And while she watched with a little fear and trepidation in her eyes, he’d insert his sticky fingers into his mouth, tasting her sweetness, sucking loudly as that pink blush rose from her neck to her cheekbones.
Yes, the benefits of corner time were not to be denied. Clara always responded sexually to it, in spite of her nerves being on edge. He’d given her another couple minutes before he rescued her.
He walked around the site, checking on the women, making sure they were settling in for the night. As wagon master for the Widow Wagon, he’d taken on the responsibility of making sure the women were safe and delivered to their new husbands. As a widower himself, he knew the loneliness and heartache of losing a spouse — and he also knew the joy in finding someone who fit you like a glove. He went to the wagon to be sure that Nelly and Rose were sleeping. Clara’s girls were sweet and well-behaved, and he’d grown to love them while on this journey West. He spotted Sam, his assistant and cook while on this trip, saluting him as he walked by. More than a mere cook though, Sam, armed with his rifle, currently rested near the women, keeping watch for any danger during the night.
Except for the occasional cricket, a distant wolf howling, or the pop of dry wood in the fire, his spurs were the only sound on this quiet night. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and out on the plains like this, the stars were out by the thousands. He swore when his life settled and he had a house for his family in Missouri, he’d take time to sleep out under the stars in memory of the days on the trail. He’d never grow tired of lying under the stars.
He pulled back the flap on the tent, the amber glow flickering as the candlelight danced in the breeze. She stood obediently in the corner — naked, just as he required. He didn’t need to say it anymore; she knew what he liked and what was expected. He loved that his hands could span the small waist above her beautiful, broad hips. Her plump, white buttocks were firm, but had just enough softness that they wobbled when spanked. He loved squeezing and grabbing that ass, pulling her hips up to his hard cock. He’d never tire of this woman. Ever.
She stole a glance over her shoulder in his direction, and he barked at her, “Eyes forward until I say otherwise.”
Her head snapped back, her feet shuffling, her thighs rubbing together. He smiled, knowing her clit must be throbbing by now, that little rub of the thighs likely giving it a bit of relief — for a few seconds anyway. As suspected, her time in the corner had primed her for what he had planned. He folded a blanket in front of the chair he’d placed at a safe distance from the table. Everything seemed to be in place.
He sat down, rolling up the sleeves of his white work shirt. “Clara, come here.”
She pivoted but halted for just a moment, not taking her eyes off the sight of his hands working on the sleeves. Nibblin
g on her lower lip, she finally stood in front of him, uncertain what to do with her hands, obviously struggling to keep them away from her quim. She knew covering herself was a no-no in his book.
“Hands on your head.”
She obediently laced her fingers behind her head, the act alone causing her to stand straighter, her chest out. The position threw her breasts into even greater prominence, placed perfectly for his mouth. He leaned forward, squeezing and plumping the one, while pulling on the nipple of the other, capturing it between his lips, suckling until her gasp above him forced his eyes open. She stared intently, her thighs trembling. He abandoned her breast, moving his hand down to cup her sex. The damp curls of her sex left a wet sticky trail on his hand as he stroked her, grinding his upper palm on her clit, in conjunction with sucking her nipple painfully hard.
“Oh, Angus!” Her head lolled back, her mouth opening.
“That’s my girl,” he cooed. Angus moved his hand over her sex, letting his middle finger slide between her slick lips, tapping her clit. Her hips thrust while he let her breast slip out of his mouth but not before he teased the tip, scissoring it with his front teeth. She gasped again when he slid a finger along her silky skin, easing two fingers into her, pumping her quim. He danced the tip of his thumb on her clit, reaching around with his other hand to cup her ass, running his finger between her adorable cheeks. He stuck a finger into her back hole, and she stiffened, shouting with her release, the tight muscles constricting around him, her release sending a flood of nectar sliding down his hand to collect upon his palm. Her little puckered hole tightened on his finger, both holes milking him.
He wondered if he’d be able to hold his own release back, watching her fly apart, her body quaking with the residual tremors. His cock felt strangled under the restraint of his clothing.
During her fall over the cliff, her hands had come loose from her head and she had clawed him, his shoulders screaming in pain as the blood soaked into his shirt. That would be a stain he’d order her to leave alone though. It would be a badge of honor in his book, a memento of this night.
He released his fingers from her body, wiping them on her buttocks, her sigh at the loss making him smile. “Lie down on this blanket, girl. On your back.”
She blinked at him. “I’m not getting spanked?”
“No. I just wanted you to be ready and primed, and standing in the corner does that for you.” He winked at her.
She frowned at him. “Angus! I was worried.”
“Well, I’m always happy to oblige. If you really want one, or you keep up with this little attitude you’re working up to, I can always give you a good spanking instead.”
“N-no, that’s okay. I’m all right, really.” She brightened, giving him a sweet smile as she got on her hands and knees, then laid down on her back, looking up at him expectantly. He leaned forward, pulling her hair up off her shoulders, fanning it across the blanket.
“Arms above your head. Close your eyes.” The pulse in her neck quickened. “You’re safe, Clara. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
He picked up a lit long, white tapered candle in each hand, the paraffin wax had pooled at the top. He kept the candles three to four feet above her body, dribbling the wax slowly onto her nipples. Gasping, her eyes fluttered open, her gaze locking upon him. He smiled, reassuring her — he hoped.
Clara closed her eyes.
Good girl.
He circled her left breast first, random drips of hot wax dotting her nipple and areola, her belly trembling. Then he went to the right, circling that nipple, making a similar pattern. He let the wax pool on the candles, while he blew softly on the warm liquid, watching the skin goose bump on each of her breasts. Tilting the candles close together, the flames kissed the outer edge, wax flowing downward in gentle rivulets from her sternum to her navel.
The muscles of her thighs stiffened, her hips moving just a fraction of an inch. He pulled up the candles. “You can move, darlin’. Is it feeling good?”
“Yes, Sir.” She arched her back, feet flat on the bed, pulling her knees up, her pelvis swiveling. Then she relaxed, widening her legs, her pussy clearly visible through the thin veil of pubic hair. He placed the candles back into their stands, allowing his finger the freedom to stray. His hand drew lazy circles on her inner hip, her body writhing under the attention.
“Oh, God!” She lifted her bottom off the blanket, unable to keep still under his teasing fingers. He rubbed just above her pussy, twirling the curls under his fingers, brushing over her labia but not pressing or entering.
She tried pushing him to give her sexual pleasure.
“Clara, keep your fingers away!”
He furrowed his eyebrows at her when she opened her lids. She quickly shuttered them again, returning her hands to her head.
“You know better than that, bad girl. I control what happens, and when it happens.”
To prove his point, he barely stroked her, lightly brushing the little brown tuft of hair, tapping her clit once before he abandoned her.
Her whine made him chuckle, and she squeezed her thighs together tightly, one of her subtle methods of self-gratification.
He grasped the candles again; the wax had pooled nicely. He let the hot liquid drip slowly down each hip, being careful not to get it anywhere near her pubic hair or sex. He let it kiss a trail up her belly to her sternum again, the warm fluid melting the partially-cooled wax beneath it. Clara gasped in response to the warm wax hitting the soft skin on her belly. Tilting the candles together again, the hiss of the flame dancing in the wax and the smell of burning candles filled the air. As the wax dripped in a steady stream onto her body, he circled each areola, focusing on the nipple itself this time, the skin bumping and puckering tightly under the attention. Turning his attention to the right one, he gave the same treatment to the other soft globe, leaving the areola buried beneath the sticky wax. “You can move, baby. Just keep your hands above your head.”
Her petulant whine in response never failed to make him grin.
Adorable.
He returned the candles to their stands, divesting himself of his clothes. At the sound of the buckle being undone, her eyes opened, staring at him as he quickly pulled the leather free of the loops of his pants. He enjoyed the way she shivered at the whap, whap, whap sound as the tip of the thick belt slapped through them.
He swore his cock groaned when he let it free from the restraints of his clothing. He gripped the silky, hot length, stroking himself, watching her lick her lips reflexively, her hips unable to lie still. He hovered over her body, resting on the cradle of her hips, both hands grabbing onto her breasts, plumping them, the wax melting under his hot caress, thumbing the erect nipples, peeling the wax off under his rough touch. Lifting his hips, his forearms braced to either side of her, he positioned his penis to penetrate her, thrusting deep. Enveloping her mouth under his, she moaned into his mouth, her pussy constricting upon his hot, turgid member, a strangled groan bubbling up from his chest in response.
He ground his hips into her pelvis, pistoning his cock into her hot, moist cunt. She groaned, tilting her head back, exposing her slender throat, her sighs and moans coming faster and louder. Angus felt that familiar tingle in the base of his spine compelling him to thrust into her hard, shouting his release shortly after her scream, the vice-like grip of her sex throwing him over the edge. Their hips continued to thrust and squeeze, milking every drop of cum from each other. They lay in that beautiful place between ecstasy and reality, where only the pulsing of their sex and their gasps for air mattered.
“Jesus, girl.” His semi-erect penis slipped from between her swollen labia as he rolled onto his side next to her. “Looks like we succeeded in getting most of the wax off of you — and onto me.” He pulled at the hardened white pieces now embedded in his chest hair.
Clara giggled, covering her mouth as if she could hide her laughter from him. “It looks good on your breasts too.”
“Bad
girl,” he said, grinning. Sitting, he began to pull wax out of his chest hair, dropping it into a pile on the blanket. “Let’s clean up and get to bed. Wagon leaves early in the morning.”
Chapter One
Two weeks earlier
Angus swore there was nothing more beautiful than the Wyoming sky. Blue as one of those small marbles he had in the bag in his pocket. Not a cloud in the sky, and in the distance the Granite Mountains could be seen. It wouldn’t be long before they arrived in Independence Rock, another drop-off. Clara would be meeting her new husband. Angus sighed, knowing he’d miss Clara and the kids.
It had been a long time since he’d been able to play with children, enjoying their laughter and their antics. He chuckled to himself — kids brought an enjoyment to life that some didn’t know. Others, like himself, knew the joy and chaos that children brought to a home, and he knew the void and heartbreaking pain of their loss. He swiped at the tears that sprung up unbidden — again.
This past winter marked three years since his wife and little girls had succumbed to influenza. He’d never understand why God hadn’t taken him too; he’d cared for and nursed them all for weeks. His wife’s name had been Rose, just like Clara’s youngest. She’d turned twenty seven the year she’d given up the ghost. Their girls were five and seven — Katherine and Priscilla. He’d nicknamed them Kat and Prissy. Rose never cared for their nicknames, instead wanting them to sound like elegant ladies of society. Angus told her that there’d be time enough for that...
Angus spent hours on the floor with them in the evening. Playing marbles, tickling, letting them jump on him and ride him like a horse — he missed the laughter and mayhem a busy house with young children brought. His wife some days had been appalled that he roughhoused with them “like boys —they’re girls Angus, not roughneck boys!”
Cinch Your Saddle (The Widow Wagon Book 3) Page 1
