Claiming Catherine (Montana Maiden Series Book 1)

by Vanessa Vale

  She smiled kindly at me, placed her hand on top of mine on the table. "You didn't have a momma?"

  I bit my lower lip and shook my head. "She died when I was quite small. My father was a drunk and didn't think of me much. I think it might have been better that way. Regardless, my mother would not have known the ways of the Bridger men and I would still have been woefully unprepared."

  Taking a sip of her tea, she nodded. "You might just be right. Now though, you've got a strapping husband."

  I blushed. "He is very handsome."

  "He―Sam and Cole, too―and my husband are cousins. Grant lost his parents at a young age and came to live here with the men. Grew up together, although he's a few years older. Our house is over by the river." She pointed out the window. "You have questions for me, I'm sure."

  "You weren't surprised when you found me in the other room." I looked down at my hands in my lap. "On the chair as I was."

  "Making yourself come? I'd be surprised if you weren't. I'm just impressed with your inventiveness and will need to try it later."

  I blushed hotly and she gave my hand another squeeze. "It just means your husband is fucking you really well. You can't get enough. That's natural, honey."

  I closed my eyes, shook my head. "What I did in there is not natural. There's something wrong with me."

  She eyed me closely. "Has Jake said there is?"

  "Well, no."

  "Has he said he's pleased with you?"

  "Yes."

  "He has been fucking you, hasn't he?"

  I thought of all the times, and variations, that he had. "Yes."

  "Then there's nothing wrong. You're supposed to be like this."

  My mouth fell open. "Do all women act like me? When I was in St. Louis, the married ladies talked about how miserable it was to lie with their husbands. They didn't seem to like it one bit."

  "Then their men weren't doing it right."

  "Why aren't you so...bothered, the way I am?"

  Maura gave her head a little shake. "I am. Oh honey, I am. I've been married for a long time now, so I'm adjusted to the constant need, but to make you feel better, Grant fucked me over the dining table before he left this morning, the breakfast dishes sitting there. I hadn't even cleaned them before I had to come, but this week, Grant asked me to only come when we fucked, so I had to find him in the barn on the way over here. That's why I was a little later than I planned―he was slow and very thorough."

  I took a sip of my tea to think. "But the...the cork." I leaned in and whispered.

  "Is it arousing?" she whispered back.

  "No. It's not arousing at all," I grumbled, as I squirmed against the offending item stretching me. "Jake's attention when he's putting it in and taking it out, lifting up my skirts at random times to just look at it, having him so...so focused on me, that feels really good. And when it gets bumped, that...that feels good actually."

  "Then what's the problem?"

  "Jake says, I mean―" I fumbled for the right words. "The first time I was corked, Sam did it. Jake said his brothers can help me with my cork."

  Maura got up, took down some cookies from a tin, put them on the table in front of us. "You want me to tell you it's normal, don't you?"

  "Of course." I picked up a cookie, nibbled at it. "There was this man in St. Louis. We were to be married, but he found me lacking. I’d undone one little button at my throat during church. It was so stifling hot I thought I was going to faint. When we were outside, he became irate. Called me names, said that I was wanton. A slattern."

  "So you're worried that since you're sitting here with your breasts out, and that Jake lets his brothers see you and touch you in ways you thought inappropriate before, you're everything that man called you."

  I brushed away a tear. "That, and worse."

  "I know it's a conundrum for you, but really, it's simple. Jake does these things to you, for you, because it pleases him. And because it pleases him, he will please you."

  I smiled, although it was a little shaky. "Jake said something very close to that yesterday. Does it make taking a cork any easier?"

  Maura grinned. "No. Nothing makes taking a cork easier. I never forget it's there. But I never forget Grant either."

  "Do you have children?"

  "No. Grant can't have them. Mumps as a child."

  It was my turn to take her hand. "I'm sorry to hear that, if children were something you desired."

  "Actually, I never wanted children, miserable parents and all that. Grant's died when he was young." She waved her hand as if those years were minor. I'm sure there was a story there, but I wouldn't press. "I get him all to myself."

  I could see the love on her face for Grant. I envied her that.

  As we finished our tea, both Jake and Grant came in, removing their hats and placing them on the table next to us.

  "Catherine, this is Grant, Maura's husband," Jake said by way of introduction. "He's not only the foreman around here, but my older cousin as well."

  "Wiser, too." Grant grinned. He was tall like Jake, but thinner, with sandy blond hair that curled about his head and an easy smile. He was an attractive man. And he only had eyes for his wife.

  Maura stood and went around the table to her husband. She swung her hips broadly and her breasts shifted with each step. She smiled, completely oblivious of her noticeable sway. He met her halfway and kissed her. While their lips held, Grant's hand moved over Maura's breast, giving her nipple a tug.

  Maura purred like a cat at his attentions.

  "You haven't scared Catherine away, have you?"

  Maura's eyes were a bit unfocused as Grant's hand continued to knead and caress her breast. She could only shake her head.

  He dropped his hand. "Speak, wife."

  Maura licked her lips, then swallowed. "I think she believed she was the only woman exposing her breasts and having her ass filled. Hopefully, I eased her mind."

  "That's my girl."

  Jake looked at me. I remained turned toward the table, keeping my breasts angled away from the new man. "Catherine. Come to me." He arched a brow as a silent command.

  I stood and came to stand next to my husband. With the wide cork, I had to push my bottom out behind me to find comfort, and that of course, pushed my breasts forward. I moved in an imitation of Maura.

  "Hello, Catherine. You are pretty as a picture," Grant murmured, his hand returning to his wife's breast. He had his fingertips on her nipple, twisting it, pulling it, stretching it out long, while Maura's eyes were closed in obvious pleasure, her lips parted.

  I gave a little head bob as hello.

  "Before we go, let's show Catherine that she's not alone. Over to the bar." With one last tug, Grant released Maura's nipple and guided her over to the bar in the kitchen. She obeyed and when Grant commanded she lift her skirts, she did so without pause. He went over and stood beside her hip, running a hand down the round globe of her ass.

  Was this how I looked with everything on display? Her pussy was shaved, her skin there pink with tiny little lips, yet wet and slick with what I now recognized as seed. In her ass was a plug that had a large knob protruding from it. It was a colored glass that gleamed in the sunlight and large enough that Maura's cheeks were held apart. How did she find that comfortable?

  I glanced up at Jake, unsure if I should be observing this, but he just pulled me even closer to his side and held me about the waist.

  Maura didn't move from her position as Grant spoke. "Maura likes a big plug in her during the day. Nice and thick with a big, sturdy handle on it. Don't you, love?"

  "Yes, sir," she replied.

  "Does it shame you when I do this, expose you to others?"

  She shook her head, her hair swinging gently like a curtain about her. "No, sir."

  "And why's that?"

  "Because I belong to you and everyone who sees my ass knows it. The larger the plug, the more telling it is."

  "That's right, love." Grant helped her stand, held her cl
ose as she regained her bearings. "Let's go back home and I'll give you a good fuck for pleasing me so." He picked up his hat and nodded to Jake and me, but looked upon Maura once again. "I saw that all that seed from earlier was working its way out."

  "Oh yes, please," Maura begged as the door shut behind them.

  Jake pulled me against him and lowered his head for a kiss. An open-mouthed, plundering kiss. He pushed me back against the table edge, my cork hitting it, and I squeaked. Grabbing me by my bottom, he lifted me up onto the hard surface and pushed me down so I lay upon it. He pushed my skirt up to my hips and stepped between my spread thighs.

  "This is going to be fast," he said as he pulled out his cock and lined it up with my pussy. In one swift motion, he slid in deep, my constant arousal easing the way. My soreness was gone, only searing pleasure remained.

  Gripping my hips tightly, he pummeled my channel until I was clawing at his back, wrapping my legs about his waist. I came quickly, my need so great. As I lay spent on the table, Jake continued to thrust, working me, using me for his own pleasure. He came with a loud groan and he slapped his hands down on the table to the sides of my head to take his weight. We were breathing hard, and my breasts were damp with sweat.

  He pulled out and I felt his seed seep from me, down to my stretched ass, to the table below.

  "Ah sweetheart, you please me so. Don't move. It's time to shave you."

  I just laid there watching him, recovering from my orgasm as he put his cock back in his pants and went over to the wash basin to retrieve his shaving cup and straight razor and a wet cloth. Wiping me clean, he murmured, "Put your feet up on the edge of the table and don't move. I don't want to nick my pretty pussy." He winked as he tended to me. As he lathered soap over my mound and down my pussy, I fell asleep, sated, replete and for just a little while, at ease with being a wife.

  Chapter Seven

  Jake

  The next two days I kept Catherine's training much the same. I inserted the smaller pill now at bedtime; it provided the level of arousal that kept her in a state where she often used the special chair on her own while I was out, yet retractable enough where she still found the ass training something to endure. I alternated between a deep plug and wide cork in her ass, letting her learn I would be variable in my choice. This was the time where I set no new demands on her, just fucked her pussy and let her settle in to her new role, adjusting. Accepting. Coming to the realization of what her days would now be like. But two days was all I could endure with her remaining in the house.

  "We are going into town today. Supplies are needed so we will take the wagon," I told her over breakfast.

  She glanced up at me, her eyes flared in surprise, then darted down to her bare breasts. "Town? Like this?"

  "I have a scarf that will cover you appropriately," I replied.

  She stood, paced across the room. "A scarf won't cover me." Her hand moved back and forth in front of her exposed flesh. "I'm huge like this."

  Yes, she was so beautifully large, her breasts now quivering with each frantic breath. I smiled. I couldn't help it.

  "Then you'd rather not wear the scarf? That is your choice."

  "What? No!" Spinning to face me, fear brightened her eyes. "I need a real blouse, not like this one."

  "I've seen you touching your nipples, sweetheart. You pull and tug on them when I'm not watching. Have you come by just working them?" I took a sip of my coffee.

  She flushed hotly, all the way down to her tightening nipples. She had. She'd learned how to play with herself until she came. "You don't have to answer. Your face is like an open book. If you are covered, how will you be able to play with yourself like that? How will I be able to touch them when I desire?"

  "You may do so, but not in town. I need a blouse that covers my breasts." She'd tilted up her chin at the ultimatum.

  I stood, rising to my full height and I could tell by how her eyes widened, then dropped to the floor, she'd realized her error.

  "Did I hear you correctly? Did I hear you tell me when and where I can touch your body?"

  Her head lowered even further, her shoulders drooping.

  "Did you just tell me what you needed?" I kept my voice low, which seemed to cause fear in Catherine more than shouting. I paused, letting my words sink in. "Very well. You may have a full blouse to go into town."

  I took her hand and led her upstairs to our bedroom, spinning her around to undo the buttons of the blouse I'd just put on her. Tossing it on the bed, I went to the closet and picked the training blouse Grant had given me the other day.

  I held up the crisp, white blouse and helped a very wary Catherine put her arms into the sleeves. Coming to stand in front of her, she looked quite relieved to see the more abundant amount of material to this garment. It had a high collar and small buttons halfway down the front. It was very similar to the blouse she'd worn on her arrival to town. Toward the bottom, it had the long strips of fabric that wrapped around the waist to button at the back, which I fastened easily. She wouldn't be able to remove the blouse without help. "There. Is that better?" I asked.

  Her relief was evident, but she started to shift her shoulders. "Yes, but it's … it's awfully scratchy." She ran her hand over the soft cotton, then higher over her breasts.

  "Yes, I've heard it's quite scratchy," I replied as I went to the shelf that held her corks and plugs. "Over to the bar, please. I want to change your cork."

  Confusion knit her brow, but she did as told, her upper body wiggling. Once she was in position, I tossed her skirt up high on her back, covering her so that I could only see her from the waist down. I worked the cork from her ass carefully, as all the while Catherine held her breath. Once empty, she exhaled deeply.

  "Since your breasts are covered, you will need a much larger cork to remember that you belong to me. People in town need to know that you have been claimed."

  "You're going to show them my cork?" she asked, her voice all fear and worry. She panted as I used my lubricated fingers to circle and stretch her ring of muscle, wider and wider. This cork would be the widest I'd used on her yet, several steps up from the one I removed. Between the blouse that would torture her soft skin and tender nipples and the girth of this plug, she'd be one miserable woman today.

  "I won't have to." I worked the large cork into her and she groaned, shifted her hips against the burn I knew she felt. I wasn't hurting her, but it certainly wasn't pleasant.

  "Jake, it's too much. Oh, God, I...no, please." She pleaded with me as I took my time getting the foreign object in place. Rushing would only harm her and that was not my intention. Taking a good five minutes, she finally opened enough to fit around the cork. By the time I finished, she was panting and her skin was coated in a sheen of sweat.

  Pushing down her skirts, I helped her to stand, gripping her elbow as she adjusted back to an upright position. From the way her face was pinched and tight, it was obvious she wasn't happy. Good.

  I went to the basin to clean my hands. "I’ll bring the wagon around for you in thirty minutes."

  She only nodded as I left her standing there, trying to figure out her latest predicament - a predicament of her own making.

  The wagon ride into town was as I'd anticipated. Catherine sat on the bench seat leaning so far forward, she planted her hands on her thighs to keep from tipping over. The cork was so large that she couldn't sit normally and every bump, every jolt of the wheels over the uneven ground had her groaning. She continued to shift her shoulders as the discomfort of the training blouse mounted.

  "What is this shirt made from?" she asked after a fashion.

  "It's cotton just like your other blouses, but I assume you're referring to the wool that's covering your breasts." I flicked the reins gently over the horses back.

  "Yes, it's terribly uncomfortable."

  "No doubt," I replied. "That's homespun wool."

  "Why is it made with such awful material?" she whined. "It's so itchy and hot. My skin is so irritated.
"

  "I bet, sweetheart." I gave her a quick glance, then turned my eyes back to the prairie in front of us.

  By the time we reached town, sweat dotted her brow and her shoulders were slumped, as if she could curl her body in to avoid the bothersome fabric. I took her firmly by the waist and helped her down. Once standing, she shifted her hips to find comfort against the cork. This motion forced her shoulders back and her breasts against the blouse. "Jake, I can't," she whispered, glancing around.

  I looked down at her with pretend confusion. "Can't what, sweetheart?"

  "My nipples, they...they're so sore. This blouse is bothering my skin."

  "Do you want to take it off?" I asked. I reached around to the buttons in the back.

  "Not here!" she begged. Tears filled her eyes. "I need a blouse that's not so...so horrible."

  "There are two choices, since we are in town - this blouse or nothing. Let me know when you decide." I took her by the elbow and led her slowly down the town's boardwalk to the mercantile, aware of how she walked very carefully and with an extra swing to her hips. Every man in town, and every married woman, would know the reason. I tipped my hat to the sheriff. We'd grown up together, along with my brothers and Grant. Ian MacKenzie lived in town near the jail. The ladies found him handsome and he never lacked for their attentions, but he was a confirmed bachelor. "Sheriff MacKenzie, may I introduce my wife, Catherine?"

  She glanced at the man and gave a wan smile. My friend smiled, gave me a pat on the shoulder. "Ma'am, it's a pleasure."

  "Would you like to sit on that bench, sweetheart, while I talk with the sheriff? I'll just be a few minutes."

  "No!" she cried. When she realized how desperate she sounded, she continued. "No, thank you. I'll stand."

  I saw the corner of MacKenzie's mouth turn up, but he offered no other indication to her predicament. We spoke of general things, just long enough to add to Catherine's discomfort. After issuing our goodbyes to the sheriff, we entered the mercantile. I introduced Mr. Carter to Catherine, who eyed her as if she were a prized mare. He was older, in his fifties, and his wife stood next to him. She was of similar age, but still quite attractive. Her back was arched in the position of a proper wife and she wore a scarf of a pale blue over her shoulders, across her front to wrap around behind her. She was modestly dressed, yet could be uncovered at any time by Mr. Carter. I'm sure Catherine now understood how a scarf was fashioned and was more miserable in her decision to doubt me.