Claiming Catherine (Montana Maiden 1)

“No, sweetheart,” I said, assuaging her fears.

“How many will I have to cook for? Eight or nine?”

“As I said, you don't have to cook. Or clean. Or any other task like that. Maura will come in and tend to it all.”

“So then what am I to do?” she asked. Her head turned to the side and I could see she worried her lip between her teeth. Obviously, she placed her value as a wife on her abilities to maintain the home.

“You'll be busy learning how to be my wife, sweetheart. I don't want you distracted with anything else.” In a day or two, she wouldn't have anything else on her mind.

She looked down at her lap, her fingers worrying at the fabric of her skirt. “I don't know how to be a wife,” she whispered. “What if I don't do it right?”

The “it” I had in mind involved fucking and pleasing me with her body - her pussy, her ass and her mouth. I had no doubt she'd do it right. Wives were given daily doses of an aphrodisiac, discovered originally by the Indians in the area to stimulate a woman's arousal. The plant, and its unique use, was shared with the original settlers of Liberty. Life in the wilds of Montana were hard, even harder on women. Keeping them aroused kept them happy, and dependent on a good fucking only a husband could provide.

At first, the ground plant had been taken by mouth, but the terrible taste had wives refusing, which went against its intended purpose. With women refusing the plant, they were angry and rebuffed their man's attentions. Because of this, the men implemented strict rules for their wives, to force their ultimate submission. One masterful change was to form the crushed plant into not only an ointment, but also a hard, round form, which the husband pushed deep into his wife's ass daily where it was absorbed into the body and built her arousal into a continuous state of need. Humility came by the insertion itself. Quickly, the need for their husband to fuck them was too strong for them to focus on anything else and wives were once again docile and subservient. Because of the effectiveness, this procedure had not changed and continued to this day.

As a wife was constantly aroused and intently focused on relieving this condition, it was the man's job to carefully protect and care for her. It was a role I longed to fill.

In the Bridger family, it was the tradition of the husband to keep the true reason for the daily insertions a secret from his wife, who would otherwise fight against the permanent and complete domination of their bodies. Catherine might resist at first, but she would submit.

Catherine

Hours later, after a quiet dinner by ourselves - Sam and Cole had returned to their own houses on the ranch - I stood in my new bedroom with my husband, his large frame all but blocking out the remaining daylight from the window. His home was big, like the man himself. Fashioned from logs, it was rustic, but comparable in size to the mansions of the wealthy in St. Louis: two stories with many rooms I would have to explore, and a large porch to sit upon and take in the vast Bridger lands. The ranch, too, appeared vast and thriving. I'd seen a barn, a stable, and several other buildings in the distance, perhaps Sam and Cole's own homes. It appeared my husband was successful in his endeavors.

Would he have the same mastery in marriage? I looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes, knowing I was about to find out. Nervous didn't begin to describe how I felt. My hands were shaking, my palms damp, yet I wasn't frightened. He gave no indication of harming me - quite the contrary, in fact. The words he'd used repeatedly were protect, cherish, love, pleasure. Punish, as well, but I didn't think I could do much that would require that. I'd always been obedient with my father, even though he was a man who drank away all our money, and knew I should obey my husband. Mr. Bridger used the word fucking, too. He wanted to fuck me. I swallowed at the implications I could only guess at.

"I want to see your body. I've been imagining what you look like all day. I want to feel the weight of your breasts, to know the color of your nipples, to see how distended and long they are. To see your pretty pussy."

Mr. Bridger moved directly in front of me as he spoke and began to undo the buttons of my blouse at my neck. His words froze me in place. I felt embarrassment and heat spread through me at his blunt and carnal language.

I licked my lips. "You said no marital relations until I'm ready."

My blouse was white and long sleeved. Not a bit of skin showed, just as Mr. Beecham had expected of a virtuous woman. Once he'd verbally slandered me, I avoided even the consideration of undoing the top button. That would be scandalous.

"I agreed to no fucking." He kept his eyes on what his fingers were doing. "Taking off your clothes is not fucking."

Swallowing, I closed my eyes as my shirt parted and I felt the cool air on my exposed skin. I could smell him, a mixture of some kind of soap, leather and a hint of maleness. I'd never had a man close like this. Ever. I'd never even been touched in this way. Could he see my heart beating frantically against my chest? Mr. Bridger's fingers worked the buttons lower and lower, his knuckles brushing over my corset covered breasts. My nipples tingled and tightened into hard tips at the contact.

"Take down your hair." His voice was deeper. Demanding. I did as he bid, lifting my fingers into my tresses to pull the pins free. My hair tumbled down my back.

“So lovely,” he murmured against my ear. His breath was warm against my skin. He pulled the blouse from my shoulders, letting it slide down my arms and off entirely. I stood in front of him in my black skirt and white corset, the snug ties lifting my breasts up so they were bountiful mounds. I was large bosomed, something that was impossible to hide. It didn't bode well for the trimmer lines of today's fashion, and I could only tighten my corset so far to diminish them before I couldn't breathe at all.

>

He ran a hand over the exposed flesh, goose bumps rising in his wake. I shivered at the gentleness of his rough finger. His skin was so dark compared to the paleness of my flesh.

The buttons on the side of my skirt were quickly undone and I was stripped of it with efficient ease. I took the proffered hand as balance as I stepped out of my skirt. Mr. Bridger lowered himself to his knees to undo my boots, slide down my stockings. Next, he stood once again, went around behind me and undid the tie on my drawers and let them drop. Mr. Bridger helped me step from those as well. Now, I stood solely in my corset. He walked around me once, taking his time to look me over, remaining silent, before working the corset hooks free down the front one at a time with expert precision. All at once it parted, causing my breasts to tumble out.

I covered myself as best I could, one hand crossed over my breasts, the other to cover up my woman's mound, but it was impossible to avoid his gaze. There was just too much of me revealed, my hands too small a protection. I looked at the gleaming floorboards beneath my small feet, unable to look up as my mortification built to epic proportions. I squirmed, finding it impossible to just stand there while he looked his fill at my naked form.

“You are so lovely, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dark. "More than I had ever hoped for in a wife."

His words were meant to soothe, but nothing would assuage my discomfort but the return of my clothing.

“Come, stand over here.” Mr. Bridger led me by the hand to a mirror that hung a few feet from the bed. I had no choice but to acquiesce. Hiding was not an option. I couldn't flee—I was unclothed. I could throw a fit and cry, but I would still be naked. So I took his hand and let him lead. Beneath the mirror was a short bar attached to the wall, similar to a short section of hand railing for a stairwell, about two feet in length. “Hands on the bar.”

I did as he asked, thankful to be facing away from him, although he could see my bottom. I knew he was looking there because I could see his handsome reflection gazing upon it in the mirror.

“As I said, it is my job to protect and care for you,” my husband espoused. “As my woman, you are the center of my world now. We are bound together as a family. But there are rules you must follow, things I expect of you as a wife.”