“So good,” I groaned again, melting into the mattress.
Short of sexual climax, I’d never felt something so wonderful in my life.
“Has no one ever massaged you before?” the laird asked, his hands moving lower, kneading gently along my spine.
“Never,” I said, wondering why I should be granted such an indulgence.
It felt positively foreign and forbidden.
I moaned again when the laird’s slippery hands reached the small of my back, tension easing under his thumbs, my whole body going lax in surrender to him, and to his touch. “Well, then, lass. That explains why you’re going to mush in my hands. But that’s how I want you now. Soft and pliant. Because I’m going to take you as you’ve never been taken before.”
Little spears of excitement shot through me at that promise, but then his oiled hands c
ircled lower to my poor, abused backside, and the moans of pleasure turned into a throaty groan. I wasn’t sure I could bear to be touched on my bottom, swollen and likely bruised as it was. But the flat expanse of his palms warmed my flesh and actually soothed the pain.
With still-slick hands he slowly worked my legs apart, and stroked the insides of my thighs. My tears dried up, my breathing deepened, and a sweet, languorous feeling spread through me.
Then his hand slipped between my legs, fingers pushing through the wetness there and I fisted the bed-linens in my hands. He was readying me, I knew. But for what? The answer began to make itself clear when he pulled my own slickness back between the cheeks he’d spanked so hard with the paddle. And when I felt his thumb rest upon the forbidden place, I startled and stiffened.
“No,” he said, harshly. “How did I just say I wanted you?”
Chastened, I murmured, “Soft and pliant, my laird, but—”
“Soft and pliant,” he repeated, prying my cheeks apart so that I felt a cool rush of air across my puckered entrance. “I’m going to fuck you here, lass. Right up your arse.” It sounded not only impossible, but debased and profane. And yet, before I could form any objection even in my mind, his thumb pressed against the opening and slipped shallowly inside. “I’m going to do it to you. What’s more, I’m going to teach you to like it. If I’m feeling particularly wicked, I’m going to teach you to love it. To crave it. To beg me to fuck this pretty pink pucker.”
No, that could never happen, I thought. I was quite sure. Especially since the sensation of his thumb moving slowly in and out was uncomfortable. Not painful, not precisely, but so strange as I clenched upon him, that I couldn’t imagine liking this, much less loving it.
Still, the laird had told me what he wanted.
Soft and pliant, I repeated to myself silently. But at my silence, the laird unstopped the vial again and trickled a line of oil between my crack. Then he used both thumbs to massage and slip and slide in and out, oiling the passage well. The feeling of vulnerability began to sink into me, overwhelm me, put my mind into a bit of a fog. It went on and on, until both of the laird’s thumbs eased in, and he said, “You’re gorgeous, front to back. I love the shape of your mouth. The shape of your cunt. The quiver of your arse. Every part of you arouses me. I’m enjoying this, lass. And you’re going to enjoy it too. Touch yourself, and aim to bring yourself to the brink…”
Lazily I slid my hand beneath me, finding myself to be even wetter than I thought. And the nub of my clitoris was so swollen and sensitive that it jumped at the touch of my fingers. Then the laird knelt behind me and lifted me by the hips, forcing my body to roar awake again. I felt the hard pulsing head of his cock nudge between my cheeks as he said, “No man has taken you here before…it’s another maidenhead I intend to claim.”
I groaned, remembering how it had excited us both for him to claim my virginity. I flushed, wondering if this would feel the same. He pulled his thumb out, leaving an emptiness that was swiftly replaced by the pressure of his erection—or the crown of it anyway. He didn’t stroke deep into me, as he would in my cunt. Instead, he stroked very shallowly, while I gasped. “Oh, god!”
“Soft and pliant,” the laird growled in reminder.
I tried, truly I tried, as the intensity of the sensation threatened to undo me. I couldn’t take it. It was too much. I rubbed myself harder because the pleasure of it battled the discomfort. It would be a race, I thought, to find my climax before I broke. He stroked a little deeper, forcing a more guttural groan from me. And then it became more as the laird popped past some ring of resistance, then pushed all the way in, his hips pressing tightly to my reddened backside.
But the sound he made when he bottomed out made it all worth it; a cross between an animal growl of satisfaction with a panting breath of desperation. That’s when I realized how he was straining to hold himself back. Straining not to do me harm. He would discipline me, my laird. Even until I cried. But he would never harm me.
“How does it feel to be taken this way?” the laird asked. “Tell me.”
“I feel…low, and obscene, and full, so full.”
He rewarded me by grinding his hips in a circle that made me moan with the sensation of it, which had somehow turned wonderful. He moved over me then, his muscular chest pressing tight against my back. His weight deliciously pressing down on me. His breath warmed the back of my neck as he continued to grind into me. “Aye, what I’m doing to you is obscene lass,” he said, his deeply aroused voice sending a shiver up my spine. “This is dirty. Filthy. Sinful. Wicked. And it’s going to make you come so hard you see stars.”
My heart began to race, my breath stuttering, because much as I might have denied it to myself, the discomfort was now a memory, replaced by raw animal need. I lifted my hips to urge him on, and he grunted his approval. “That’s a good little whore. You like it, don’t you?”
“I don’t—I—I’m not certain,” I babbled.
He pressed deeply, but didn’t pull back out again. “You want more, don’t you?”
Oh, he taunted me like the devil himself!
“I asked a question, lass,” he said, his iron erection throbbing inside me. “Do you want more?”
“Yes!” I cried, as my fingers danced over my clitoris, bringing me closer.