The Fall of Lady Westwood (2 page)

The Mistress flashed a cold look at the Lord, and returned to her seat, her cheeks coloring further.

Andrus leaned forward, laying a hand on the table. “When I return, we’re going to sort this out. I will not have my own wife keeping confidences from me. Not ever.”

Ryndra never heard a response, for her Lord, his hand clamped to her upper arm, led her briskly from the room.

* * *

A
ndrus leaned back against the oak headboard of his bed, his arms outstretched to either side. The enchanting scullery maid, Ryndra, her hands still bound behind her, knelt on the bed between his spread legs. He approved of Captain Lawrence’s choice of companion for their upcoming journey to the Frontier. The blonde girl was pretty, attractively proportioned, and seemed eager to please. More, she seemed to genuinely like him, rather than viewing her service as a trial. It mattered not, really, but he was not one to derive a sexual thrill in forcing the unwilling. Unlike his wife.

The girl knelt, gazing at the thick cock that rose up from the dense nest of his pubic hair. The broad head bobbed with his pulse, the slit glistening. He pulled the paddle off of the wall from above the headboard, and set it on the mattress. He watched Ryndra’s nervous eyes follow it.

“I think a nice paddling would suit here, don’t you?”

Ryndra’s azure eyes shifted up to his, and she swallowed. “If it pleases you, Sir.”

He smiled at her, and touched her cheek. “Since we have a long journey ahead of us, we may as well get better acquainted don’t you agree?”

She nodded, the color rising in her cheeks. “Yes, Sir.”

“So I’ll give you choice then, girl.” He shifted a bit, his heavy cock swaying. “We can warm that bottom for you now, or we can warm it … after.” He nodded toward his erection.

Her eyes darted down then up to his again. He relished that look of uncertainty. While he didn’t like forcing girls, he took great joy in exerting his control over them. Some might call that a distinction without a difference, but to him it made all the difference in the world. No man was in a position to question his tastes, regardless.

She closed her eyes a moment, and with great pleasure he watched her nipples peak. He was glad he’d chosen to leave her hands bound behind her, for it afforded him an unimpeded view of her lovely breasts.

“Well, what is it to be, sweet girl?”

She licked her lips. “I would like it n-now, Sir.”

He grinned at her, and she dropped her gaze. ”Turn around then. Let’s see that bottom of yours.”

He waited while she moved into position, her buttocks turned toward him. She was blessed with a nice round bottom, and his cock ached to be inside her. “Further over, girl. Put those tits on the bed.”

Crouching tightly over, her lovely buttocks yawned open. The plump purse of her pussy, the prominent lips covered in a fine down, pouted below the dainty rose hole exposed to his gaze. He played a fingertip against the delicate flesh of her rosette, and her buttocks twitched. His hand roved over her fine curves, squeezing a buttock, pinching the soft flesh of her inner thigh.

“You have a fine bottom, girl.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Her voice was faint, tremulous.

His hand cupped the heat of her sex in his palm, and she exhaled a ragged breath.

“So pretty.” He gently tugged on her pubic hair, rubbing the silky curls between his fingers. “Are you virgin, my dear?”

“N-no, Sir.”

He chuckled. “No? Have you a young man back home? Waiting on you, pining for you?”

She sighed as he slipped a thick finger into her sex, testing the depths.

“I have no one, Sir.” Her voice broke on the last word.

“Shh, don’t fret, dove.” His hand roved up her back and he clasped the nape of her neck in his palm, stroking her like a fractious animal. He withdrew his glistening finger, wiping a sheen of moisture across a broad buttock.

“I’m sorry, Sir. It’s just … ”

“What is it? Tell me.” His finger slowly traced the bumps of her spine, gooseflesh rising at the sensation.

“I miss it, sometimes. Them. I miss home.”

“I know, it must be difficult,” he said, his tone soft. “You’ll see home again soon enough though. You’ll be much improved from your service at House Westwood.”

Though he tried to comfort her, he
did
relish the power he had over the women. Though termed ‘servants’, they were in practice little different than the branded and pierced slaves his wife occasionally brought home from the flesh markets of Wyndhaven.

He picked up the paddle, stroking the leather over her flesh.

She peeked a nervous glance back at him.

“You’ve done nothing wrong my girl, so you needn’t worry. I’m very proud of you. You were very good for your demanding Mistress. I simply feel like paddling you.”

Her bound hands twisted, perched atop her back. Her buttocks cringed as he raised the leather.

CRACK

Her flesh shivered at the stroke, a bright blotch deepening quickly. He laid the next strike along the outside of her buttock, almost around the hip. She yelped as the flexible leather bit.

“Do you need a gag?”

She shook her head. ”No, Sir.”

“Then try to keep quiet, girl.”

The blows cracked down at a leisurely pace, the girl’s flesh quickly blushing a deeper and deeper pink. When her cheeks flushed a pleasing shade, he paused to feel the heat radiating off of punished skin. The girl wept softly as he lay the cool of the back of his hand against her burning bottom.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, once again thankful Captain Lawrence’s eye for assessing female flesh was so keen. He took up the leather paddle once more, tapping the crease between buttock and thigh. She tensed, inhaling sharply.

The paddling began anew, the pace slower, letting her feel the full effect of each stroke. But rather than enjoying the sound of her cries, and the shiver of her flesh at each impact, his thoughts wandered. The paddle he was using to punish the impudent cheeks of the lovely maid, was the same one his Miriam used to bring to him. She would lay it on the sheets, and fold herself over the side of the bed, her gorgeous bottom waving in the air. Her paddlings had never lasted long though, his urge to fuck the bewitching woman undoing him all too soon. It had been too long since those days, and he wanted them back again.

He finished with a flurry of hard strokes, the girl crying out at each crack of leather on tormented flesh. Her bottom glowed a fiery red, blotched here and there with darker purpling marks.

Finally staying his arm, he dropped the paddle to the sheets. He rose to his knees beside her, his jutting cock rubbing against her trembling thigh. With a gentle hand he caressed the heated flesh of the girl’s buttocks. She hissed and whimpered as his fingers traced the swelling welts.

“It’s all right, girl. It’s all over now,” he whispered. “You were very brave, very obedient.”

He combed his fingers through the heavy weight of her blonde hair, appreciating the contrast of the straw color against the deep tan of his calloused hands. He pressed gentle kisses to the nape of her neck, between her shoulder blades. She sniffled as his fingers traced her ribs, felt the smooth muscles along her spine.

He moved behind her, the heavy head of his cock moving across the inflamed flesh of her sore ass. She tensed when he laid the thick cock in the crevice of her buttocks. He luxuriated in the feel of her flesh trembling around him.

“Ask me for it,” he growled, his hand grasping her hip.

“Please, Sir. F-fuck me.”

He slapped the heavy cock between her cheeks a few times, then aimed lower, slipping into her, his advance slow, deliberate. She exhaled a long breath as he sheathed himself fully within the close clutch of her pussy. His hips felt cool against the burning skin of her punished bottom. He stayed still a moment, deep within her, her wide hips clasped in the firm grip of his big hands.

Her hips moved slightly, a subtle rotation. He pulled back, leaving just the broad head of his cock between her plump labia, and smacked her ass. “You know better than that. Be a good girl, or I’ll need to paddle this little bottom some more.” He pinched the flesh of her buttock and she hissed.

“Well?” He raised his hand again.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

His hand lowered, caressing the martyred flesh. “I know you’re trying, dove. Remember your training, and we won’t have to punish you further.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, inhaling deeply.

He lunged forward again, her surprised grunt making him smile. He took up a steady, deep thrusting, his hips pounding against her punished flesh. Her body rocked and shuddered, her hips held fast to him in his iron grip. He pulled out occasionally to run the broad head up and down between the soft, wet lips before plunging deep once more. His strokes grew rougher, and he smacked her burning bottom a few more times solely for his pleasure. He could feel her hips trying to move against the tight grip of his hands, and she voiced a panting grunt each time his hips slammed against her.

“Oh – oh, Sir! Please.” Her small voice was almost lost against the loud sounds of the slapping of his hips against her.

He shook his head. “Not quite yet, I think.”

Her voice was a surprised sigh, as he slipped from her wet slit.

“As much as I don’t want to leave that wet pussy of yours, I think I need something else.” He watched her blush spread to the roots of her hair.

He reached between her legs, finding her clit. She was blessed with a prominent bud, and he pushed the hood back so that he could touch it directly. She sighed as he rubbed it in slow circles, running a finger through the slick folds of her slit. He smiled, noting how wet her sex had become.

“Someone liked her spanking, I see. Well, you’ll be getting a lot more of this where we’re going my dear, so never fear.”

He rubbed at her clit harder, pushing two fingers deep into her sex. He pumped her vigorously until she was panting once more, her hips waving in the air.

“Do you want it girl, hmm?” He so loved to torment a girl, confusing her mind with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Please, Sir! Please!” Her hands clenched into tight helpless fists at the apex of her back.

“Please what, girl? Tell me! I want to hear you say it.” He pumped his fingers as deep as they would go, and she cried out. Again, he worried the hard, swollen clit.

“I want to. I want to come, Sir,” she panted, her hips rotating, thighs taut.

With a pinch to her clit, she went over, shrieking into the sheets of the mattress. He smiled as he felt her moisture running down his wrists to drip onto the sheets. Her scent filled the air, and he reveled in it. He bade her turn back around, a hand in her hair to guide her where he wanted her.

He wiped the tears from her cheeks with a thumb as she took his shaft between the heated bliss of her swollen red lips. His wife’s scent was still on her as the girl knelt over him, and that set him to thrusting into that accommodating mouth. All too soon, the boiling pressure from behind his testicles rushed up, his harsh grunts heralding his climax. As he poured his seed down the girl’s throat, he thought wistfully of how long it had been since he’d had Miriam the same way.

He resolved that things at Westwood Manor would be changing when he returned from his journey.

Chapter One

McClearn Farmstead

I
t was her favorite time of the day — watching Owen. She made a sport of sneaking glances at the farmhand’s broad back as he mucked out the milking stalls. His trousers, stretched tightly over that trim, firm backside drew her eye as well, but she was ever afraid his quick glances back at her might catch her in the act. Her father would stripe her backside himself if he knew she was so much as
thinking
about glancing at one of the hands, so she’d learned to keep her admiration discreet.

“You’d better hurry, Sophie”. Owen leaned on his rake, his chest heaving. “Rory’ll be here any minute. If you aren’t done with those cows, he’s sure to let you have it.”

Sophie knelt down next to the last cow, pulling her shift up to keep what muck she could off of its hem. “You just worry about yourself, Owen. You still have two stalls to go you know.”

“Want to race? See who gets their work done first?”

Sophie shook her head, her dark locks swaying. “Not a chance. Just get your work done, boy.”

“
Boy
? Is that all I am to you?” Owen flashed her his fetchingly crooked grin, and Sophie felt a fluttering low in her belly.

He bent to push another full rake of muck into the wash channel. “What do I get if I win?”

“I never said I was racing you, Owen.” She squeezed out some of the slippery udder cream onto her fingers, then reached under to coat the pendant nipples of the cow. Mooing greeted her ministrations.

Owen smacked the edge of the steel rake against the stall enclosure to clear the offal from its tines. “Tell you what. If I win, I will be at your service the rest of the afternoon. I’ll do all your chores along with mine.”