Chapter 19

So it came to this, she thought. God only knew that she would love to be Lady Blackthorne; to wear the latest fashions, to live in his fabulous Manor, to be waited upon hand and foot by countless servants. But he had a price, a pretty steep one at that. She had to decide now if she was going to live under the conditions that he imposed, or forever give up the idea of being Lady Blackthorne and return to her miserable, miserly existence as the Lady Mackintosh, living in her little more than a cottage with a peasant girl maid.

What I do for money, she thought sadly as she began to unlace her stays. She removed the stays, the dress, and finally her shift, standing uncomfortably before him in her shoes and stockings only.

He was pleased to note her pubic hair matched the hair on her head. "The rest of it as well," he ordered.

She sat on one of the chairs in his study and off came the stockings and shoes. Calum was also pleased that her figure was still fine, with nice breasts, a little sag, but not bad for a 35 year old. Small waist, slim hips. With the right clothes, she would be a very suitable consort for him and a prized head mistress of his estate.

"Come here," he ordered. When she began walking, he said, "No! On your hands and knees."

She got down on her hands and knees and crawled to him, her breasts swaying below her torso.

"Remove my cock and suck it."

Tearlag unbuttoned his breeches and removed his prick from his pants. It was still flaccid, although it began to stir as soon as her hand touched it and then grew uncomfortably large in her mouth. He grabbed her hair and thrust roughly into her mouth, ramming to the back of her throat, causing her to gag.

"We'll soon get you to stop gagging on a hard prick. If you can't take it all the way down, you'll be of little use to me."

He let her work on his cock for a few minutes, then ordered her to stop.

"In my bottom right desk drawer, there is a small whip. You will crawl there and get it. I want you to bring the whip to me in your teeth. When you return to me, you will place it in my hand. You will then bend over this settee with you legs spread. You will grab the bottom of the settee and say to me, 'Whip me master, I must be punished.' I will then whip you; on your ass, the backs of your legs, even your cunt. You may scream, no one will hear you, but you are not to, under any circumstances, release your hands, nor close your legs, or even move them from the position in which you're placed, do you understand?"

"Aye."

"Good, I hate to repeat myself. In the future, I'll expect you to remember all of my instructions explicitly and carry them out to the letter, oh, and you might as well start calling me 'master'. In private, that is all that you will ever call me. In public, especially after we're married, you may call me Lord Blackthorne or husband. Behind closed doors, you will be my slave and call me 'master' only. Is that understood?"

"Aye master."

"Proceed."

God! What had she gotten herself into. She was already on her knees, so she dropped to her hands and crawled to his desk. As he said, there was a whip in the drawer, the handle about eight inches in length. It had a dozen strands of flexible leather, about 2 1/2 feet in length. She put the handle into her mouth and carried it back to Calum. She presented him with the handle and after he took it from her hands, she stood and bent over the settee, spreading her legs and grabbing the wooden trim at the bottom of the settee.

Remembering her instructions, she said, "Whip me master, I must be punished."

He was slightly unsatisfied with the placement of her legs, so he spread them a little wider, exposing more of her red haired cunt to the whip.

He draped the whip over her buttocks and let the strands dangle against the lips of her sex, moving, tickling, anticipating the moment.

Whack!

Tearlag started, choking down a scream, almost moving her feet, but remembering in time his admonition about moving. Her ass jumped, but her feet stayed planted. Another one, whack, slightly below the first, striping the lower part of the globes. Then another, whack, on her legs and the lower part of her ass, one strand striking her parted labial lips, sending a lightning flash of pain to her brain. She groaned, trying to resist the urge to scream, trying to withstand his brutality, thinking he would appreciate her silence.

"I suggest you scream, slave. I love to hear them scream, it's music to my ears; the world's great arias sung by the masters. I want to hear you scream and if you don't, I have to try harder, because you will scream," Calum said menacingly.

So scream she did, screaming until her voice grew hoarse and tears streamed from her eyes, screaming as he striped her legs, her back, her ass, even the lips of her cunt, seemingly searching for anyplace that was still pale and laying a red stripe on it. Her ass danced and jumped, but with her body bent over the settee and feet planted, it could not hide from the lashes. His final stroke went up between her legs, fully traumatizing the folds of her sex and two or three of the strands flicking against her clit. She almost collapsed as it hit, keeping her feet planted by the smallest miracle. As soon as the last blow fell, he rammed his cock into her cunt, still dry save for the sweat which formed on her back during her whipping, rolled through the crease of her ass and onto her sex. Fifteen or twenty times he slammed into her sheath. She lost count; his stomach and hips pummeling her tender ass and legs, his hand slapping her ass every time he withdrew.

"Master," she cried. "Master, don't get me pregnant! You don't want another bastard!"