The Highlander's Little Lass
Page 7
“Did it make the creek run in your little valley?” He dipped a finger there now, coated it with a mixture of her slick juices and his freshly deposited cum before pushing the lubricated digit against her bottom hole. “Relax,” he said.
She took a deep breath and when she exhaled, he pushed his thick finger in up to the knuckle. Glynis gasped at the invasion.
“Yer sweet bottom is a tight fit for my finger,” he said. “Soon enough it will be a tight fit for my cock as well.”
Her eyes widened as excitement turned to fear. Even though she was still very innocent, Glynis knew enough to realize that her bottom did not behave as her cunny did. It did not soften and stretch and weep with need. It did not yield.
“Oh, lord husband, no!” she begged. “It would surely rip me asunder!”
He chuckled. “Dinna fear, lass,” he soothed. “I’ll only take your back virginity after this little hole has been thoroughly trained to accept me.”
“Trained?”
“Stretched. Over time. And in a manner that makes the way forward pleasurable.”
This explanation did nothing to soothe her fears. “Why would ye stretch me?” she all but cried, resisting the urge to wriggle away. “Will nae it ruin me?”
“Not at all. Yer wee hole will close back up after use. Trust me. And as I said…” He pumped his finger in as he began to strum her clit with his thumb. “Ye will enjoy the training.”
And she had to admit that this first part was not unpleasant. Bran kept his finger in her bottom hole as the thumb of his large hand pressed and teased her clit. Soon she was following the motion of his hand, her natural movements helping him slide his finger further into her bottom.
“Ach, feel the effect this has on me?” he asked, thrusting his hips up, as if she needed that to ascertain evidence of his excitement; it had been apparent for long moments already. After a moment, Bran withdrew his finger. Glynis groaned. Her pussy was gripping, seeking attention, and when he moved to put her face down over his knee, she submitted obediently. When she looked back, she realized he’d reached on the nearby table to pick up a candle laying by the holder. It was about five inches long, with a rounded end, and just a bit thicker than his finger. Before she could protest he’d shoved it into her pussy, working it in and out until the surprise of a shuddering orgasm overtook her. But before the waves of pleasure could recede, Bran took the lubricated candle and pushed it against her bottom hole.
“Press back,” he said. “Push against it.”
And she knew from her nanny’s instruction earlier in the day what to do, and strained against the candle, the action loosening the ring of muscles just enough to allow the candle to slip in. Glynis hissed at the invasion. It stung a little; she felt so full, so stretched. And now he was lifting her and bending her over the bed as he knelt between her legs, his mouth seeking her dripping pussy as he began to work the candle. Then fingers replaced his tongue, and both candle and fingers were being worked in their respective tunnels.
“Oooooo…” Glynis looked back up at her husband, who was grinning, transfixed. She blushed at what he must be seeing, but knowing he was using her thusly—knowing he was in full command—soon had her mental excitement rivaling her physical excitement. She felt the waves hit her once again, pulsing through her, centering in her core. She cried out again, and when Bran finally ceased the delicious torture and removed both the candle and his fingers, she was too weak from yet another orgasm to move.
Bran picked her up and tucked her into bed beside him.
“My laird?” she asked after a few moments, for she’d remembered then the conversation she’d heard between the two men and was of a mind to tell him. But he was in no mood for conversation.
“Sleep, lass,” he said. “There’ll be time for talk later.”
So Glynis closed her eyes, deciding it could wait.
Chapter Seven: The Laird’s Correction
It was the first time since her arrival at Castle McKinnon that she’d been allowed to dress in anything other than a simple gown. Both Glynis and Ina had been taken by surprise when Bran had sent word that his wife would be expected to accompany him at his table when he received guests that evening. He’d even sent a gown, and as Ina fitted her charge into it, she remarked several times that the laird must well know his bride’s proportions to have commissioned such a well-fitting garment.
“Is that really me?” Glynis could not help but be surprised at the vision staring back at her from the looking glass. The emerald green garment hugged her curves, the bodice boosting her modest breasts to creamy mounds that swelled just above the neckline. Her hair was piled onto her head to the extent that it was possible, but the wild red locks defied Ina’s best efforts to completely tame it into a proper coif. Wavy strands of it still hung down to frame her delicate, heart-shaped face.
“It is you. And a lovely lass you are.” Ina stood back, looking proudly at the young woman she’d raised.
A rap on the door caught their attention. Glynis was surprised to see her husband. She curtseyed almost shyly at the handsome man who stood before her in his best tartan.
“Give us a moment,” he said to Ina, his eyes never straying from his bride.
Ina cast a quick glance at her charge before leaving the room.
“Is something wrong?” Glynis asked.
“No.” Bran McKinnon smiled. “I just wanted to explain why I’ve waited to have ye sit publicly by my side.”
She cast her eyes downward. “I thought it was because you were keeping me more as a child wife than a traditional one.”
“Even dressed as an adult, you are my wee Glynis,” Bran said. “But that’s kept between us, lass. I still need a wife by my side for such occasions.”
“Are ye ashamed of me, then? Is that why you’ve waited?”
“Ashamed?” Bran stepped forward and took her tiny face in his large hand. “Never. But you were McLeod born, and while the king expected peace from the time our banns were read, I know that old resentments die a slow death. I wanted my men to cool their anger before I put ye publicly by my side. A sharp remark on the heels of the truce can be excused. But they’ve had time to get used to what is expected of them, so there can be no excuse for anything other than respect to be shown to ye. Do ye ken?”
She nodded slowly. “I think I do. You wanted the men to get used to the idea of a McLeod becoming one of them before you introduced me.”
He nodded. “Clever lass,” he said, and turned, offering her the crook of his elbow. Glynis reached up to slip her arm into his.
It was Glynis’ first time in the great hall of Castle McKinnon. When she entered, she felt a prick of nostalgia for her old home. The halls were very similar, as were the smells of food. Her father frequently held elaborate feasts, and it appeared that Bran enjoyed doing the same. The long table was already lined with men from the McKinnon clan and their wives. Drinks were being poured and conversation and laughter were already loud and raucous. But as soon as the guests turned and saw Laird McKinnon walk in with his beautiful, diminutive wife at his side, the table fell silent.
Glynis clung harder to Bran’s arm, feeling the collective weight of their stares. She knew what they were thinking, what they were feeling. It would have been much what she’d have felt if her father had been the one to marry for peace. She tried to imagine her resentment at having a former enemy assume the place as her father’s lady. She tried to imagine the disgust she’d have felt at watching a McKinnon woman eat McLeod bread. It was not so hard to understand, and she realized that her childlike size likely made her look even more unsuitable for the position she’d been given.
Bran stopped, eyeing the assembly.
“My wife,” he said, stepping aside and holding his hand toward her, presenting her to his kin. “The Lady Glynis McKinnon.”
The silence broke. Cups were raised, if not reluctantly then politely. Glynis felt herself breathe again as Bran escorted her to the two most ornate chairs at th
To her left, her husband was already engaged in conversation with his brother Colin. She could still feel Duncan’s eyes on her. She tried to ignore him, but could not when he spoke.
“The new Lady McKinnon.” The reedy voice was addressing her now. “To think I saw ye but four days ago, but dinna ken it was you. You look quite different then.” He was smiling at her, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “I’m Duncan McKinnon,” he said. “I’m Laird McKinnon’s factor.”
Glynis resisted the urge to say that she knew who he was. Instead she simply told him it was a pleasure to make his acquaintance, which was surely a lie. She felt as if a calculating, predatory stoat was assessing her, the way he stared at her, his beady eyes grazing her, and lingering on her bosom far too long.
“It is generous for Bran to let you out among the adults.”
She jerked her head sharply at this comment, her heart hammering. Her husband had assured her that only those in their immediate circle know of their special arrangement. She was about to object when he chuckled and continued.
“When I saw ye in the hall, I thought you were but a child.”
“I assure you I am not,” she said curtly.
Duncan shrugged. “No matter. I imagine after all the women Bran’s been with, he’s ready for something innocent and favorable to look in his bed. He can be proud of that, at least. It’s a good thing you’re fair, or he’d have kept ye tucked away wherever he’s been hiding ye. For fair or nae, you’re still McLeod.”
She felt her face flame at this. The man was obviously trying to raise her ire with his jibes. Glynis did not want to take the bait, but she couldn’t stop her temper from rising. She was at least able to keep her voice level as she replied.
“My husband is a proud man,” she said. “Of that I am certain—proud of his kin and his clan. He’s proud enough to do what’s right, even if it means making a home with a woman from across the border. He did it for kith and kin and king. Tell me, Duncan, are you one of those men repulsed by such allegiances, for if ye are, then I wager that you’re in the wrong occupation.”
His expression was her reward. Duncan’s face clouded in anger, and with a sweet smile Glynis turned her attention from him to an older woman across from her who began engaging her in more pleasant conversation. She was sure from the mirth in the eyes of the man next to the woman that he’d heard her comment to the factor, and took some amusement. Glynis wondered if the factor was trusted or respected. When he suddenly disappeared from the table, she felt much more at ease. As the evening wore on, she still felt uncharacteristically shy amid the sea of curious faces staring in her direction, but she handled herself well. Even so, Duncan’s hurtful words continued to jab her heart.
“I was proud of ye tonight,” Bran said later. They were back in his bedchamber, and she wanted nothing more than to take pleasure in his praise, take pleasure in him. But the insecurities Duncan had raised in Glynis clouded her happiness.
“Are ye?” she asked.
“Yer sulkin’.” He’d turned away to undress. Now he turned back to her, wearing on his long shirt. “Why?”
She sighed as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “Duncan. Your factor.”
“What of him?”
“He said you were keeping me hidden away.”
“Glynis, we spoke of this before dinner,” Bran said patiently. “It’s not entirely untrue. I wanted yer first experience at my side to be pleasant…”
“He said it was because you’re ashamed of me.” She studied Bran’s face, hoping to see anger at the factor’s words. She felt a pang of hurt when he responded with a dismissive wave of his large hand.
“He’s loyal to the McKinnon,” he said, adding to her pain with a laugh. “He’s just needling ye because like a lot of my kin he’d have rather we found peace without my takin’ a wife from across the border.”
“Or maybe he’d have rather you not found peace at all,” she said.
“Aye, some feel that way,” Bran said. “But not Duncan. He knows the price of loyalty. He has my full trust, even to the point of speaking in my stead before the king himself. He would never sacrifice the truce.”
“You’re wrong.” She was off the bed now, facing him, her small fists clenched. Glynis felt anger and frustration at how easily her strong husband—the man she’d promised to obey with childlike trust—was being duped by this weasel of a man. “He does nae want peace,” she argued. “In fact, he… he works against you to ruin it!”
Bran’s face turned serious. His voice was low when he replied. “That’s a serious allegation, lass.”
“’Tis true!”
He crossed his arms. “And how would a wee lass who just left my nursery know of such ‘truths’?”
“I heard him speak of it…”
But Bran didn’t let her finish. He turned, laughing. “Ah, ye wee shrew.”
Glynis stared in disbelief at the broad back. That he not only refused to listen but was implying that her allegations were based in silly female resentment caused her already hot temper to boil over. She didn’t even realize she’d thrown the candlestick it until it hit the wall tapestry a few feet from her husband’s head. The next thing she knew, Bran had pulled down the tapestry and was folding it over. She watched in horror as he doused it with a nearby pitcher of water and then looked at her through the smoky haze of the small fire he’d been forced to extinguish.
“Oh…” It was all she had time to say before her huge husband walked over and pulled her to him. The clothing he’d removed was slung over a nearby chair, and now he reached for the wide leather belt he’d worn and she whimpered in fear as he doubled it over in his hand.
“So you want to throw a bairn’s tantrum, do ye, wee Glynis? Very well, then. But there’s a price to pay. And your bottom is about to pay it.”
Even as Glynis struggled, she knew it was in vain. Few men could match the strength of a hulking Highlander in peak physical condition. An angry woman—especially a small one—was certainly no match. Bran sat on the bed, throwing Glynis over his lap, and pulled up her dress to expose her bare bottom. This time there were no gentle rubs, only a hard, proprietary squeeze.
She wailed in pain as the belt came down across her bottom. Bran was not gentle; this was true punishment, and for the first time it occurred to her that her prior correction at his hands had been quite tame compared to what she was getting now. Bran did not seem out of control; the blows were still methodical. But they were so intense that they took her breath away. No sooner would one rectangular welt be raised by the strap’s descent than another would overlap it. Glynis’ upper body was resting on the bed, and the covers beneath her face were soon soaked with tears. The apologies she tried to form came out in a garbled stream of incoherent babbles, which only grew more frantic as the strapping moved lower to her thighs.
Bran brought the strap down on her churning thighs with stunning accuracy, and just when she didn’t think things could get any worse, he lifted her from his lap, flipped her on her back, and sat beside her on the bed. Glynis’ bottom burned beneath her as he spread her legs, trapping one between his knees as his fingers spread the soft outer lips of her pussy. It occurred to her as he did that, despite the pain of the spanking, her cunny was more than ready for his touch. It pulsed and throbbed, and she wondered through the haze of pain if he was about to replace the agony with ecstasy. But it was not to be. A new and nearly blinding pain suffused her as the broad strap encountered the wet folds of her inner labia. Her husband was not spanking her hard on the nether regions, but he did not have to. Even a little pressure was enough to have her wailing at an even higher pitch, and bucking on the bed.
“No more!” It was the first coherent phrase she’d uttered and finally he stopped. For a few moments, Glynis was unaware of this, however, and continued to buck, each descent of her inflamed bottom causing fresh pain to suffuse her tortured buttocks. Her pussy throbbed both with hurt and some unmet need she found contrary to her current state. She sobbed as much from shame as from hurt. What kind of woman was she to feel arousal through so much discomfort? She tried to squeeze her thighs together and realized they were wet. Angry with herself for bringing on such a punishment, and humiliated by her own arousal, she turned into the bedcovers, hiding her face.
Bran let her, and it took all his self-control not to bundle his small wife in his arms and kiss the tears from her beautiful face. He understood that she was a sensitive, high-strung soul, and that Duncan’s thoughtless words had wounded her fiery spirit. But the allegations she’d directed at his factor were serious ones, and saying such things in public could put the clan against her. Duncan was a trusted man; he’d been with Bran and Bran’s father before him. And, of course, he could not tolerate the lass throwing things. Even if she weren’t assuming the role as both his wife and his child, he’d have skelped her good on that score.
He stood from the bed, looking down at the welted bottom. He knew she thought it was over, but it wasn’t. Now that he’d punished her, she needed to understand that he could demand—and take—even more from her. She was still writhing on the bed, the sting sinking in now to a dull, throbbing ache. Every now and then he would catch a glimpse of her swollen, pink cunny. He’d seen how wet she’d gotten during her spanking and had marveled at it. And on the morrow he would take her to his bed and fuck that tight pussy hard. But he did not believe in mixing pleasure with punishment, and her punishment was not yet over.
The incident with the candle a few days earlier had given Bran an idea, so he’d gone to the kitchens and had the cook who made the candles fashion three wickless, tapered wax cylinders in graduated sizes. He’d planned to pleasure Glynis as he trained her ass with them, but now walked to the box where they were stored and withdrew the medium-sized one, which was larger by half again than his thick finger. He stood staring down at her as he greased the elongated object and then approached the bed.
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