Their Rebellious Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 10)

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw James shift his cock within his pants.

Tennessee gasped, then moaned as my fingers found her hardened clit. “This is… you shouldn’t… don’t stop… oh dear lord. Mr. Wells,” she murmured. When I stilled my hand, she looked over her shoulder at me. Her cheeks were as flushed as her upturned ass. Her eyes blurry with newfound desire. She thrust her hips up.

“Sir,” I prompted.

“Sir,” she replied breathlessly. “What are you… I, it’s—”

“You liked your spanking,” I told her, sliding my fingers over every inch of her pussy, but not lingering on her clit or sinking into her virgin hole. This was an… awakening only. “This is part of it.”

She shook her head, her hair now completely loose, the ribbon lying upon the grass beneath her. Even as she did that, she lifted her hips, trying to work herself on my hand to an unconscious rhythm.

I recognized the signs. She was close to coming, with her little pants and whimpers of need, the way her hips worked.

I pulled my hand away and lifted her up so she stood between my legs once again. Her dress fell back in place, but I had not secured her drawers, and I had to assume they were now about her ankles. From the look on James’ face as he began to walk closer, I had a feeling she wouldn’t be wearing them much longer. I lifted my sticky fingers to my mouth, licked her desire away. Sweet and spicy, just like her.

I shifted, my cock throbbing, my balls full of cum just for her. Soon. “Bad girls get spanked,” I said, my voice deep with arousal. “Good girls get to come after.”

She was a contradiction, subdued from her spanking, but also from the arousal coursing through her veins. Her hair was wild and untamed about her head, her cheeks flushed. She had the looks of a woman being well-pleasured. No doubt her pussy was eager to come, her hips shifting even now with the need to fuck. To find a fulfillment she had never achieved before. Right now, she hadn’t earned it.

“But, but I… ache.”

I stifled a groan, wanting to lower her to the soft grass on the bank of the creek and sink into her. To watch as she took a cock for the first time. To watch her as James fucked her, perhaps putting her on her hands and knees, taking her as deep as he could go.

“Are you a good girl?” James asked, his voice deep with need. He was as affected as I was, but we both knew now was not the time to claim her. “Did you pull Abigail into Mr. Grimsby’s web of danger? Did you almost sell yourself in a saloon? Did you get me beat up with your theatrics?” The list was long.

She bit her lip and nodded, her shoulders drooping as James squatted to help her step out of her bloomers. Her consequences were becoming very clear.

I set her back so I could stand, then led her over to my horse and helped her up, climbing into the saddle so I sat right behind her. I leaned down and murmured, “If you behave the rest of the journey, I will ease that ache in your pussy.”

She squirmed and I wrapped an arm about her waist, pulling her tight against me. My forearm rested just beneath her breasts, her back pressed snuggly to my chest. No doubt she felt the hard prod of my cock at the base of her spine. She stilled. Yes, she certainly had. As we began to follow the creek north, I tried to get comfortable. She wasn’t the only one who ached.

4

TENNESSEE

There was something wrong with me. Surely, there must be something deficient in my nature. I’d been spanked by a man I barely knew and while it had hurt… it had also felt incredibly good. No spanking should feel good. In fact, I’d never experienced anything like it before. I still felt it. While my bottom stung from Mr. Wells’ ministrations, it was between my thighs that held my focus at the moment. I actually ached. Not from discomfort, but from some unknown need. A craving.

The motion of the horse did nothing to soothe me. In fact, it offered quite the opposite effect. The sway had me shifting in the saddle, my… pussy, as the men had called it, rubbing against the saddle. And behind me, I couldn’t miss the feel of Mr. Wells’ hard body. His arm even wrapped about my waist to hold me in place.

Unlike earlier when I’d ridden on James’ lap, I was pulled up snug against Mr. Wells. I couldn’t hold myself removed. I didn’t want to. I liked his hold, the odd comfort he provided.

And that was why I considered myself broken. I shouldn’t want to feel him against my back. I shouldn’t like the span of his hand on my belly, the bump of his chin against the top of my head. He was appealing to the eyes. Both men were, in fact. Both wore simple pants and shirts, sturdy boots, wide-brimmed hats to block the sun. They weren’t dressed in fancy suits like those in Butte. They were ranchers, pure and simple.

The girls at school would have giggled and swooned at the sight of them. Quite the opposite in appearance, where James was dark in hair

and eyes, Mr. Wells was fair. I considered him to be a decade older than James, old enough perhaps to even be my father.

Was that why I felt comfort from him? Did I look upon him as a woman seeing an attractive man—all broad-shouldered and square-jawed, thick pale hair with a few threads of gray, full lips but a gentle smile—but also craving something he provided because of his age? My father had offered no love, no comfort. He’d been stern, but not in the way Mr. Wells was. Father had never laid a hand on me in punishment, but had been ruthless in his words. Verbal abuse he offered generously. And never once had he held or comforted me.

His intentions were single-minded. Driven. He’d come to town early under the guise of attending my graduation, but instead he’d used me horribly, ready to marry me off to the richest man to solve his problems. Me, trapped for the rest of my life with a man I didn’t love just so my father could pay off his debts, fill his bank account… and most likely empty it once again. He’d either leave me to a loveless, lonely life to never return, or return because he wanted more from me. To bleed me dry, not of body, but definitely of my soul. My heart had grown numb to him long ago.

My mind was a muddle. I’d argued with Mr. Wells, but couldn’t do much more. He was much larger, and I posed little competition to his strength if he’d wished to put me over his knee himself. There were two of them content to see me punished, but thinking back, that wasn’t really why I’d laid myself over Mr. Wells’ thighs. They hadn’t conceded, hadn’t given in to my tantrum. Stalwart, they’d meted out their dissatisfaction, their upset in my actions. They were correct, I couldn’t have run. And I had been bad. Lord, what a mess I’d put myself in. Over and over.

I glanced about. There was nowhere to go on my own, nothing but open prairie. I knew the direction from which we came, but I had no interest in going back to Butte. Good riddance to the miserable town, but that was where the opportunity for money was. A way to get to Fargo. On a ranch in the middle of nowhere, I had no idea how I would help Ginny and Georgia. Surely, neither man had enough coin to get me to North Dakota. And yet, I had no choice now but to ride with the two men, just as I’d had no choice in going over Mr. Wells’ lap.

I’d felt helpless. Overpowered. Mortified when he’d tossed up the hem of my dress and stunned when my bottom had been bared. No man had ever seen me in such a fashion. Two had laid eyes upon me. And yet, I’d voluntarily parted my legs, they’d seen me thrash, resist, then still. Submit.

I lifted my hand to my face in embarrassment, now, perhaps an hour later. Being spanked I could mentally grasp, for I had been quite gruesome with James, but I’d allowed Mr. Wells to touch me. There. I’d somehow wanted it. Needed it. And I’d opened my thighs for him, silently begged for him to do so.