A Proper Scottish Wife

"My Lord Blackthorne. There is a Tearlag Mackintosh to see you. She says that she has an appointment," the butler announced.

Calum Blackthorne glanced up from the figures on his desk. "See her in, see her in, then close the door and don't return unless I ring for you."

"Yes sir, it shall be as you say."

He left and approximately 3 minutes later, the butler introduced Miss Mackintosh to Calum and Lord Blackthorne to Tearlag. He left, closing the door behind him.

Calum examined her while she stood holding her purse, hands crossed in front of her. Tearlag was what considered the poor gentry. Her family in Tobermory had made poor investments which resulted in near bankruptcy. Tearlag had made a couple marriages with substantially older men, whose deaths had benefitted her somewhat, but her present circumstances were still somewhat shabby by most accounts. She was 35, slim and still svelte, with red hair and green eyes, a quite modest 105 pounds in weight. She either had good skin with few wrinkles except some very fine ones around the eyes or she was adept at makeup. She attempted to enhance her physical attributes with a gown in a coral fabric with green insets, and somewhat daring, bright red stays that displayed more of her bosom than most women would consider polite. While the dress was well made, of good material, it was a fashion from a couple years previously.

During his frank examination of her, Tearlag became somewhat nervous and began fidgeting.

"Hold still!" Calum ordered.

She stopped fidgeting but remained clearly nervous of his intentions. The fact that the butler had left her alone with him was not particularly comforting either.

"What do you know about me, Miss Mackintosh?" Calum asked. "I don't want flattery, be honest, to the greatest extent you can."

What stood before her was a dangerous man, of that she was certain. He was in his early 40's, 5 foot, 8 inches, thick around the middle, 230 pounds, with gray eyes under thick black eyebrows like caterpillars, and steel gray hair. His mother had been Scottish but his father English. He was accounted as rich as Croesus and his pants and coat were a stylish black, with a red waistcoat. So he wanted honesty. That was tricky as it was rumored that bad things happened to the enemies of Calum Blackthorne. She did not want to make an enemy of him. So honest, but tactful was the approach she chose to take.

"You're rich, sir, with a lot of influence. People say that you're a dangerous enemy. You're single, never married, with one bastard child you have never acknowledged, although they say you might if you don't marry. I think you'd prefer a wife and a legal heir. They say that you drove most of the crofters off your land. I would say you're not particularly well liked, but I doubt you care one way or the other, sir."

"You are honest, and pretty close in your assessment. If you had said hated instead of not particularly well liked, it would have been closer to the truth, but that was nicely done."

"What would you like of me, sir? I'm at a loss as to my presence here."

"I have a proposition for you Miss Mackintosh. Would you like to hear it?" he asked.

"Most assuredly, sir."

"What is said and done in this room is to never leave it, do you understand?" he demanded.

"Aye, sir. I'll not breathe a word of it to anyone."

"That's good, because I am a dangerous man to make enemies with." He paused. "I am looking for a wife," he said. "One who has the proper attitude and is still able to bear children. Would I be correct in assuming that you're still able to have children?"

"Aye, sir, my previous husbands could nae perform particularly well, so I had nae children with them, but I can still have them." This interview was not at all what she expected, and going much better than she'd hoped.

"Excellent. That leaves just the attitude part to be determined. In exchange for your agreement and compliance with a request that I will make before this meeting is over, I will make you my wife. You must fulfill your part of the bargain before any marriage can take place. If you fail, or otherwise do not live up to your part in this bargain, that marriage will never take place, is that understood?"

"Aye, sir."

"Excellent!" he continued. "Now before I tell you what you must do to enable this marriage, I want you to strip."

"Sir?" she questioned.

"You heard me. I have some, shall we say, unusual predilections. They run to bondage and discipline, maybe even sadism. I like my women subservient to my sexual desires. I expect them to submit completely to these proclivities, allow themselves to be tied or chained, to yield themselves to the cane or strap, to serve me in all ways I may conceive of sexually. I will not buy a pig in a poke. If you cannot submit to my wishes, I need to know it now. If you cannot, I will find someone else to do this task, someone else to marry. So strip or leave. Just remember you may not speak of this to anyone," he reminded her.

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!"

"I don't think that will be a problem," he grunted, and as soon as he said it, his prick pulled from her sex, which was finally becoming attuned to his brutal rape, and plunged into her ass, without mercy.

Tearlag screamed again. Calum was ravaging her ass, already stinging from his savage whipping; many blows of which had tormented the very hole he was now tearing into.

"Master," she screamed, "please stop! You're killing me!"

"Just a few more strokes," he panted, thrusting like a dog in a bitch in heat. "There. There. Oh God! I'm cumming. Fuck, I'm cumming."

Tearlag felt him stiffen and his prick swelled in her tender asshole as spurt after spurt of his white goo flooded her rectum. The salty liquid doing nothing to soothe the rips and tears suffered by that organ in his callous attack. A few more thrusts and he withdrew his cock from her tender orifice.

"You may move now," he told her, wiping his rapidly deflating prick upon her ass.

Her hands released the settee, in agony from the pressure she'd held it with in her torment; the blood just rushing back into her fingers. She stood.

"Back on your knees," he ordered. "Clean up this mess - use your mouth," and he pointed at his limp cock.

His prick was soiled with the remnants of his sperm, her fluids, both from her sex and her rectum, a slimy, evil smelling, mess. She gingerly opened her mouth and took the foul thing in, almost gagging on the taste. She tried to avoid using her tongue and Calum noticed.

"Use your tongue, or you'll never get it clean. Believe me, it's not the worst thing you'll ever have in your mouth."

She assiduously attended to his organ for several minutes and was alarmed that he was beginning to get hard again. She didn't believe she could stand another Blackthorne fucking at this time. Every part of her body was in pain.

"That's fine," he said, pulling away, buttoning his breeches. "I want you to stay on the floor, legs spread, your ass resting on your heels. Your back should be straight, you shoulders thrown back, your breasts thrust out and your mouth open. It's a constant reminder that every part of your body is mine and may be used at any time. This is your primary position in my presence; one of subservience and obedience. I may occasionally require you to stand, when you do, your legs should be spread, hands behind your back, breasts thrust out and mouth open; that you may be better displayed to me."

He took a seat behind his desk, tossing the whip into the drawer and observing his new acquisition. Tearlag held her position, wondering what would happen next.

"Now that we've established our relative positions, clarified that you have the proper attitude and the disposition for what I have in mind, here is what you must now do," he said. "I have greatly desired the Cameron property for several years. I slowly poisoned the old man so no suspicion would fall on me and all I'd have to deal with was the young whelp, and the property would be mine. But after the old Laird dies, I found he has two other sons, both older, so now I'd have to deal with all three of them, and the young one's taken a wife and he may be getting her with child himself, which only makes the problem worse. I've got to find some other way of taking their property. It may be impossible to murder them all. Even I might have a hard time avoiding suspicion for that crime. In addition to which, they don't travel alone."

He got up from the desk, holding a riding crop. He circled around her and let the crop caress her breasts, teasing the nipples.

"I'm going to set you up in a house in Dervaig. I own the house, but no one knows it's mine. You will be given servants, money to operate the home, clothes, a carriage, whatever you need to establish yourself there as a respectable widow. While there, you will try to finagle yourself into the good graces of the Cameron's. Maybe you can establish a sexual relationship with the eldest son, Thorburn, I believe his name is, or befriend the wife of the youngest, Stuart. It doesn't matter what you do, or how you do it, that's up to you. I trust you have enough sense to figure it out."

He rapped the nipple sharply with the crop, causing Tearlag to flinch.

'You will spy on them, you will learn everything you can about them, you will report all information to me, so that I can come up with a plan to make their property mine. That's your task. If I get their property, I will take you as my wife, else, well, I suppose something else will come up. Questions?"

"How often should I report to you? Do I come here or will you come to me?" she asked.

"Good questions. We cannot be seen together. If they knew of our association, it's unlikely that you would ever get close to them. I would say that about once a week, you will pretend to make a trip to Tobermory to visit family members. You will come here instead. That will give us a chance to become better acquainted, don't you think?" He smiled wickedly. "But you can't be seen coming here. I have a secret tunnel which I shall show you that leads to my cellars, my dungeon, more specifically. From there, other passages go to this study or up to my bedroom. I shall arrange not to be disturbed on the days that you come. All three locations are soundproofed. Can't have peoples screams alarming the servants, can we? Stand!"

She stood immediately, and remembered her position. Calum nodded.

"Good girl. Here is the entrance to the passage behind the wall." He pushed a lever and the wall swung open. "Up there is my bedroom," and he pointed up a narrow staircase, "and down there is the dungeon," pointing the opposite way. "Grab your clothes, we're going down."

She gathered her clothing and followed him down the dark, steep stairs, nearly stumbling twice. They reached another wall and he showed the catch allowing her into that chamber. It was lit with a few oil lamps, but remained dark and shadowed. The catch on the opposite side of the wall was impossible to see and could only be felt for. He made sure she knew it's exact location on the wall.

"There's the main entrance to the dungeon, but hardly anyone but me ever comes down here," pointing at a solid steel door. "I occasionally require temporary help with particularly stubborn subjects, particularly if I want their suffering to continue while I'm asleep, but I manage quite well extracting the information I need. Put your clothes over there," pointing at something she recognized as a rack.

After setting her clothes down, he led her to what appeared to be a solid stone wall behind a pillory.

"This section of the wall pivots inward if you pull down on this device," and he pulled down on an sconce whose candle was unlit.

As he said, the a section of the wall pivoted in, leading to a dark underground passage.

"This leads about a quarter mile to the former village of Achnadrish. Most of the homes have been razed, but there a few old homes remaining, all deserted now," he said. "This tunnel will come up behind a cupboard in one of the homes. There are a few candles in that cupboard to help you find your way here. More candles here by the sconce. You will depart this way when you leave tonight so you will know in which home the tunnel ends. That is the only way you may come back here, and only at the agreed upon times. I will get messages to you telling you when. I expect you to keep detailed written notes of anything you learn about the Cameron's and bring them with you when you come. I may see something in your notes that you missed. Here's a purse with a hundred gold pieces. That should get you started on your clothes and furnishing the house to your satisfaction. Servants will be hired in Calgary to begin putting the house in order. You may move in within the week. You'll be given the address when it's ready. Now step this way."

He led her to two chains that dangled from the ceiling.

"Please master," she pleaded, "nae more. I'm aching all over. I can't stand anymore."

"Just a wee reminder of what happens to anyone that crosses me," he replied, fastening her left wrist in one of the manacles and right in the other. "Besides, I left the front alone on the whipping. I don't think it should be neglected, do you."

He fastened her legs to two manacles, separating them until her legs were widely spread, her feet scarce touching the floor, most of her weight hanging on her arms. I should have declined, she thought. I should have walked out the door. How was I to know he was such a sadistic bastard.

He picked up the crop where he'd dropped it on the floor and said, "Let's get started now, shall we."