The Highlander's Little Lass
Page 4
She didn’t tell Glynis until late in the day. The two had just finished a light meal when Ina rose and informed the girl that she’d be spending her evening with her new husband.
“He’s even sent ye a gown.”
For the first time, Glynis smiled, imagining an ornate dressing grown. Her face fell when she saw the simple design similar to what she’d worn in the nursery.
“I canna wear that,” she said. “’Tis a bairn’s dress!”
“It is,” Ina said. “And as you’ll recall, Laird McKinnon said that’s how you’d be treated.”
Glynis stood, crossing her arms. “Then if I’m a bairn, I’ve no business goin’ to a man’s bedchamber, do I?”
Ina decided to try a patient approach first. “The laird is your husband. If he orders ye to come to his room wearing a fish for a hat, you’ll do it, because he is your master. So it nae matters. Now come put your gown on. He awaits.”
“No.” The younger woman did not budge.
Ina issued a deceptively patient sigh and walked over to carefully lay the dressing gown on the bed. “Well, then,” she said as she turned to look at Glynis’ smug face. “If that’s the way it is to be…”
Glynis had no idea the older woman could move as quickly as she did. One moment she was halfway across the room and the next she was upon her. Dragging the younger woman back toward the bed, the nanny sat down and pulled Glynis across her lap.
Glynis began to struggle as soon as she realized what was about to happen.
“No!” she cried as she saw the nanny’s large hand reach for one of the slippers that lay beside the gown. “No! You’ll nae do this to me! I’ll nae let ye!”
But there was no stopping what was to come. Ina had been waiting for this moment for years. Could she even put a number to the times she’d fantasized about Glynis being in this very position—her white bottom presenting itself as a canvas for the welts she would so justifiably receive? Her mouth was a grim line as she drew her arm up and brought the slipper down hard across the girl’s left cheek. Glynis shrieked. The uppers of the slippers were soft, but the soles were hard, tanned leather and the effect was similar to being hit with a stiff strap. As the oval imprint of the shoe bloomed immediately into a puffy pink welt, Ina brought the slipper down again, this time on the lower portion the same cheek, right above the thigh. Glynis howled at this assault on this most sensitive area, and rocked her bottom back and forth in an effort to escape the blows, which continued despite her pleas and sobs. It was only when the lass promised to relent to preparations for her wedding night that Ina laid the slipper down. By that point, Glynis was limp across her nanny’s broad lap, her bottom throbbing, her white thighs slightly parted.
“I suppose it’s a good thing ye resisted,” the nanny said. “Seeing ye with yer legs splayed and kickin’ reminded me I’d best tend to what’s between them before I send ye to the laird.”
Glynis looked back, her tear-filled eyes wary. “I dinna ken…”
“Why, this!” Nanny Ina reached between the soft thighs to tug the soft ginger curls covering Glynis’ cunny. “He’s expecting ye to be presented as a bairn, and if I’m to do my job, then I’d best rid ye of that ruddy patch. It’s hardly proper for a little one.”
As she tipped Glynis off her lap, the girl stood there, staring in disbelief as she rubbed her bottom through her gown with both hands. “But… nanny… my hair down there… it’s… natural!”
“Nae for a wee one,” she said, walking to where the lass had earlier had a bath and fetching a cake of soap. From a cabinet she produced a straight razor and turned back to Glynis. “Now, are ye gonna lie down or do I have to call the maids in to restrain ye?” She smiled. “I can tell ye that as a new member of the staff here I have no sway over these McKinnon maids, and I’m sure if they witness me baring that little cunny, they’ll make quick report of it to every other person here in the castle.”
“Oh, nanny,” Glynis tried, fresh tears coursing down her cheeks. “Must ye? ‘Tis only a wee bit of hair on my…” She couldn’t even say the word, and her face colored.
Nanny chuckled. “Ye’d best be getting over your modesty. I suspect you’ll hear far franker terms from Bran the Bull.”
“I heard the maids call him that, too.” Glynis eyed the nanny, but still didn’t move forward. “What does it mean?”
“It means your husband is in possession of a large cock, which he will slip between your legs tonight.”
“Between my…” Glynis looked down toward her pelvis and then back at the other woman. “Ye mean… up inside of me?”
“Aye.” The nanny’s tone was matter-of-fact.
“Will it hurt? I’ve seen the bulls mating, Ina. I canna have something like that inside me!” Fresh tears flowed now, and the nanny sighed and walked over to lay a gentle hand on the younger woman’s arm.
“Those maids, Glynis. Did they say anything else?”
Glynis worried her full bottom lip with her teeth. “One said… one said she’d stand… if’n he wanted to mount her.”
Nanny cocked an eyebrow. “And what does that tell you? That such a cock is a thing to be feared as hurt or prized as pleasure?” She offered the younger woman a maternal smile. “Silly little chit ye are. You don’t know enough of the ways of men and women to understand what it will be like. But your new husband is a man of skill, and will show ye what to do. So dinna fret.”
She led Glynis to the bed, where the lass reluctantly but meekly lay back on the mattress. Ina raised the hem of her charge’s gown, drew her heels up to her recently punished buttocks, and pushed her thighs gently apart. Within moments, the firm hand was spreading a warm, soapy lather onto her labial mound.
“Hold still.” The nanny’s words accompanied the feel of the edge of the razor being laid at the crest of Glynis’ Venus mound; how could she even think to move with so lethal a weapon on such a delicate place? But the task was performed with nanny’s usual briskness and efficiency.
“Now that’s a properly shaved cunny, that is,” Ina said, her eyes fixed between the younger woman’s legs. “Have a look!”
Glynis was shocked at the order, but then curiosity overtook her and she raised her head and allowed her gaze to travel down to the soft white and pink mound.
“I’m a bare as a babe…”
“Soft as one, too,” said the nanny, massaging a soothing oil into the now-hairless skin. Glynis closed her eyes against this affront and clenched her fists against the little tingles of pleasure it gave her, tingles that increased when the image of Laird McKinnon crossed her mind. Would he touch her so intimately? Or would he, as she feared, laugh at her bare cunny? A man of his reputation must have laid with many a woman. Glynis doubted any of them had shaven quims.
The gown she now wore was plain. Her head was uncovered. Her cunny was bare. She felt every inch the child as she stood before the looking glass trying to imagine what a man of skill like Laird Bran McKinnon would see in a woman who barely came up to the middle of his chest. Glynis’ mouth was dry with fear as Ina led her through the castle to the wing where the laird’s bedchamber lay. The oak door the nanny finally rapped on was broad and imposing as the man himself.
Laird McKinnon answered in only his shirt, which hung to the middle of his powerful thighs. Had Glynis not been so terribly frightened, she’d have taken some amusement in how Ina colored and stumbled over her words as she transferred her charge into her new husband’s care.
“I’ll have ye sent for when I’m done with her,” he said.
When I’m done with her. The words chilled Glynis. They sounded cold, uncaring, and she remembered how he’d ignored her on the ride to the castle. What would come next? Would Bran the Bull, the man who’d ordered her be treated as a child, drive his great weapon inside her and send her back to her nanny once the novelty of her deflowering was behind him?
The great door closed, leaving Glynis alone for the first time with her husband. She kept her eyes straight ahead, fi
“Open yer eyes, lass.”
With a ragged breath, she complied. The eyes staring down at hers were grayish green, she realized. Her husband was a handsome man; even as an inexperienced young woman, this was something she recognized. His soft hair balanced the ruggedness of his face, softening the square jaw. Like the rest of the McKinnon, he was darker of complexion, something that she now realized made his eyes stand out even more. She wondered what he thought of her. She didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“I dinna think in all the Highlands can be found so bonny a lass as the one that stands before me now.” He moved his finger to the side, looking now at her profile, and then gently dropped his hand. With it, she dropped her gaze.
“Dinna be afraid to look at me, wee Glynis,” he said. “I’m nae a man to be feared, except by someone lookin’ for a fight.” He paused. “Are ye looking for a fight? Because I’d rather it be a coupling.”
She forced her gaze to return to his. “The way I see it, I asked for neither.” It was the first courageous thing she’d said to this large man since he’d spanked her in her father’s hall.
“Aye. Perhaps not,” he said. “But the way I see it, you’ll get one or both.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “I will make love to ye this night, Glynis McKinnon. And I nae seek to hurt ye any more than necessary.”
She was unnerved by this. “Ina said if you did it right, it would nae hurt.”
He threw his head back and laughed at this; his mirth frightened her, although she didn’t want to show it.
“Come,” Bran said. “Sit with me by the fire.” He did not wait for her answer, but took her and walked to a chair by the blaze crackling in the grate. Drawing her onto his lap, he pushed a lock of red hair from her face. Beneath her, Glynis was suddenly aware of her bare, shaven cunny separated from his leg by only the fabric of her childish gown and his shirt.
“Do you know what your name means, lass?” he asked.
She stared at him, wondering at the question.
“Valley,” she said.
Bran smiled. “Not just ‘valley,’ lass. ‘Glynis’ means narrow valley. And your being such a slip of a thing, I don’t doubt the little valley I plan to breach is narrow indeed.” He paused. “Do ye know what they call me?”
Glynis swallowed hard. “Bran the…” She dropped her eyes. “…the bull.” The final words were barely audible.
“Aye.” He ran his hand down her back in a gentle sweep, as one might with a skittish filly to gentle it. “Between my legs lies a rod of flesh that already grows hard at the thought of being buried in your tight little valley.” He shifted her on his lap and then chuckled as her eyes grew wide when she felt proof of his words jutting into her thigh. “And indeed were I to shove it into ye without proper preparation, ye may never want me again.”
When he felt her shudder, he continued gently with his words. “But I’ll nae do that. You may not know me, wee Glynis, but I know ye. I’ve been studying ye, learnin’ about ye, and I know enough about the woman I’ve wed to ken what ye need. By the time this night is over, ye’ll spread yourself for me, and that little valley will be flowing with a stream of your desire so sweet that you’ll take all of me and beg for more.”
Her face flushed scarlet, and even though Glynis had no clue of what he was saying, some instinctive part of her female psyche recognized the carnality of his words, and she felt a curious tightening of the nipples under her gown, and a corresponding pulsing of that place between her legs along with a surge of wetness. He smiled then, and she flushed, wondering if somehow he knew. Glynis was suddenly seized by a desire to divert his attention.
“What do ye mean, ye’ve ‘studied’ me?” she asked, her voice sounding small in the large chamber.
“I know you started life as a bairn without a ma, the last wee girl child of a grieving father whose love and guilt over his wife’s death denied ye a life of what ye needed.”
Glynis scowled. “My da never denied me a thing, except a choice in who to marry.”
“Och, that’s where you’re wrong, wee lass. You were born as strong and wild as the Highlands, and if ever there was a bairn who needed and cried out for the firm hand of a father, it was you. Do ye not know that stories of yer willfulness are practically legend among the McLeods? I heard what you did to poor Alan McLeod. A Scots born and bred same as I, and ye frightened him so that he’s still nae to marry.”
When he caught the slightly haughty look in Glynis’ eye, Bran cocked a knowing brow. “Naughty lass. Still proud of that, are ye? Well, that’s only because no one ever taught ye the folly of acting above your station. Even if yer da was too soft-hearted to put limits on yer wild heart, he should have allowed it done by proxy. Your nanny Ina could have saved ye from yourself had she been allowed. But she wasn’t.” He shook his head. “Poor little lassie. You had everything growing up except what ye needed and wanted—a firm hand applied regularly to your backside and a reminder of what you were meant to be.”
“And what is that?” Her tone was surprisingly challenging, her pulse throbbing now, along with something else. She’d not imagined the strange feelings, the wetness that she now realized was sufficient to soak through her gown, his shirt. What sorcery was this, that Bran McKinnon’s words would have such an effect on her body? She tried to pull away, suddenly scared and confused and afraid of the answer he was about to give her.
When he tugged her close, his mouth was against her ear. “What is that, ye ask? Let me tell ye, my lady bairn—let me tell you what you were meant to be. Ye were meant to be a fully sexual woman, but also a woman in need of constant training, discipline, and daily reminding of the power of the one man mean to rule over her.”
His hand moved up, grasping a firm breast through her gown as she spoke. He took a hard nipple between his finger and thumb and squeezed, relishing her moan.
“Ye were meant to be a wife, but also a bairn—a magical woman-child that a man like me—a man of unusual tastes—can spank and fuck and coddle and care for and protect, a willful lass as wild as the wind, but one who tames under the hand of the one man who controls her. She may be a spitfire to everyone else, but to him, she’ll live in a state of quivering submission. Trust me. It’s what ye want. And trust me, too, when I say that because I know this, I’m the only man who will keep that little creek running between your thighs.”
Glynis heard herself moan, felt another gush of moisture surge from between the lips of a pussy that suddenly felt more obvious, as if awakened just for this moment, just for this man.
“You’re wrong!” She suddenly felt afraid that this stranger could be speaking so directly, so truthfully to a part of herself she didn’t even know existed. In one surprising burst of strength, she tried to bolt from his lap, but he caught her.
“Am I?” he asked. Bran lifted her and the next thing she knew he was carrying her to the massive, velvet-draped bed. She was too frightened to make a sound. It was about to happen. He was going to lay her down, pull her legs apart, and drive himself into her with… it occurred to her she’d never seen the thing she’d heard referred to as a ‘cock.’ But before she could further ponder her imaginings, Glynis found herself not on her back, but facedown over his lap. The fleshy prod of what she knew as ‘cock’ was obvious now against her lower belly. And her gown was being raised. But the large hand was not between her legs. Instead, it was roaming her backside.
“Someone’s been naughty,” he said, and she realized with sudden shame that he was rubbing the fading imprints of the slipper marks applied by Ina’s firm hand. “Did yer nanny Ina give ye these marks?”
She nodded, too embarrassed to speak.
“And was it for refusing my order to say goodbye to your da before we left Castle McLeod?”
Glynis had nearly forgotten that, although it was clear her husband had not. “No,” she said nervously. “It was for refusing to don this gown.”
“A small thing,” he said almost to himself. “But still a slippering was warranted. But there’s still the matter of your disobeying my command to bid yer father farewell.” He caressed her bottom as he spoke, his tone deceptively soft despite the warning in his words. “That matter is far more serious.”
Glynis felt herself stiffen over his lap, and her heart began to pound when his grip around her tiny waist tightened, pulling her body closer to his. “Did ye nae wonder why I dinna speak to ye on the road, lass?”
She looked back and shook her head, too afraid to answer.
“’Twas because I was angry with ye. Ye defied me, lass. Ye defied me in front of your pa and my men and his men. And this even after I’d spanked ye the day before. But because I will nae punish a man nor a woman in anger, I waited until I was sure I could correct you with a just hand and a level head before calling you to me.” He paused. “I will take your maidenhead before this night is over. But before I do that, I plan to stripe this bonny backside until everyone in the castle knows you’ve paid well for what ye did.”
It was only then that she saw the leather strap, caught a flash of brawny arm as he raised the implement aloft. Glynis’ next awareness was of a searing pain across the fullness of her bottom. She screamed with it, but before she could draw another breath, the strap fell again. It was though she was being branded with each stroke. Pain layered on pain, but through the burning haze and sounds of her own cries she was aware of her helplessness, and of his words, his promise that he’d now give her what she needed. He was right. She’d behaved badly. She’d thought she’d gotten away with it, but she had not. She never would, never again, not with him.
“All over, lass.” He’d stopped spanking her and his hand was stroking again. Glynis was writhing; she’d been writhing although she’d not realized it. One leg was drawn forward and the other pushed back in an effort to move from his lap. The position exposed her pussy, and now his fingers moved from her burning, welted bottom, lower to the soft, freshly shaved outer lips of her cunny. When she tried to close her thighs against his hand, Bran barked an order for her to still herself, and afraid of further punishment, she obeyed.
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