Box Set: Highland Flings: Scottish Historical Victorian Romance Taboo BDSM Erotica by Bonnie Brand Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Bonnie Brand
seeming to swell in size, and then I felt it throbbing, spasming inside my sex, until finally, my husband collapsed on top of me.
‘You are filthier and more wonderful than I could ever have imagined,’ he said softly into my ear, and then pulled my cheek towards him and kissed me on the lips with a burning hot, thirsty passion.
Chapter 14
And this is where I have been the past three months, dear reader, in this palace in the place they call Royal Leamington Spa. My Duke has not let me leave the premises yet, but I am assured there is a splendid town just miles from where we stay. But I must confess, and this is a shocking truth, I know, but I have not once even so much as yearned to set foot out of doors.
I spend my days under the education of my faithful Duke, who has neglected his hunting duties and tells me he has hunted the most exciting creature of all, and no longer has need of pheasants and game, when I am game enough. Some days he sets me free of the manacles and has the servants bathe me, and those days I bask in the glow of my slightly swelling belly, and the feeling of warmth and gratitude I have to my Duke for bringing me here.
Other days, he ties me to the bedpost, or to a rack meant for hanging meat down in the depths of his cellar. On special occasions, he does not tie me to anything at all, but brings out his riding crop and rides on top of me like his dirty little horse. On other days I’m his cow, and he pulls at my udders, trying to draw out the milk that I know is not long now coming.
But I am probably telling you too much. The Duke says stick to the sights, sounds and smells, to bring the story to life. So I will tell you only this: the sight I am currently witnessing is the maidservant, washing my Duke’s meat as he stands watching me write this letter, reading out choice sections to him, making his meat nice and hard and big, giving the maidservant a juicy treat. The sounds I am witnessing are the soft moans of my husband as the maidservant’s sponge touches his skin, as well as the scratch of my quill upon this parchment. And the smells… they are no longer the same smells I used to smell. I smell of lilies, of roses, of fresh violets and soap… but there is still something there on my skin. Something that will always make me smell like me: the blacksmith’s daughter.
PART THREE
THE LAIRD'S NEW BRIDE
Chapter 15
Ever since I’d been a wee lassie, growing up in my father’s Highland manor, I’d dreamed of one day being presented at the Assembly Rooms in the capital city of Edinburgh during the social season. Anyone who was anyone would head to that beautiful city of Sir Walter Scott and Thomas Carlyle, to waltz through the grand portico entrance, and surround myself with such finery as Corinthian pilasters, drapes, mirrors and crystal chandeliers . In 1822, King George IV himself had attended the assembly rooms! It had been said that the sudden rush of carriages and the roaring of coachmen was quite the spectacle to behold, and I for one wanted to be a part of all that glittering wealth and aristocracy in the near future.
Of course, growing up in my father’s household, it had always seemed as though it would only be a matter of time before it was my turn to be wooed and seduced by some rakish young fellow at the Assembly Rooms. My family came from old money, my grandfather having being married to the Marquess of Lothian, and as an only child, I’d known that it was my duty to carry on the family line by being married to another old house, maybe the MacGregors or the MacFarlanes. I had been sent to the oldest and finest finishing schools that money could buy, had been taught poetry, ceilidh dancing, and decorum by some of the finest etiquette teachers in the whole of Scotland.
But on my eighteenth birthday, all of my hopes and dreams came crashing down like cheap pottery. I was told to report to my father’s study at my earliest convenience by Buchanan, the butler, and
‘You are filthier and more wonderful than I could ever have imagined,’ he said softly into my ear, and then pulled my cheek towards him and kissed me on the lips with a burning hot, thirsty passion.
Chapter 14
And this is where I have been the past three months, dear reader, in this palace in the place they call Royal Leamington Spa. My Duke has not let me leave the premises yet, but I am assured there is a splendid town just miles from where we stay. But I must confess, and this is a shocking truth, I know, but I have not once even so much as yearned to set foot out of doors.
I spend my days under the education of my faithful Duke, who has neglected his hunting duties and tells me he has hunted the most exciting creature of all, and no longer has need of pheasants and game, when I am game enough. Some days he sets me free of the manacles and has the servants bathe me, and those days I bask in the glow of my slightly swelling belly, and the feeling of warmth and gratitude I have to my Duke for bringing me here.
Other days, he ties me to the bedpost, or to a rack meant for hanging meat down in the depths of his cellar. On special occasions, he does not tie me to anything at all, but brings out his riding crop and rides on top of me like his dirty little horse. On other days I’m his cow, and he pulls at my udders, trying to draw out the milk that I know is not long now coming.
But I am probably telling you too much. The Duke says stick to the sights, sounds and smells, to bring the story to life. So I will tell you only this: the sight I am currently witnessing is the maidservant, washing my Duke’s meat as he stands watching me write this letter, reading out choice sections to him, making his meat nice and hard and big, giving the maidservant a juicy treat. The sounds I am witnessing are the soft moans of my husband as the maidservant’s sponge touches his skin, as well as the scratch of my quill upon this parchment. And the smells… they are no longer the same smells I used to smell. I smell of lilies, of roses, of fresh violets and soap… but there is still something there on my skin. Something that will always make me smell like me: the blacksmith’s daughter.
PART THREE
THE LAIRD'S NEW BRIDE
Chapter 15
Ever since I’d been a wee lassie, growing up in my father’s Highland manor, I’d dreamed of one day being presented at the Assembly Rooms in the capital city of Edinburgh during the social season. Anyone who was anyone would head to that beautiful city of Sir Walter Scott and Thomas Carlyle, to waltz through the grand portico entrance, and surround myself with such finery as Corinthian pilasters, drapes, mirrors and crystal chandeliers . In 1822, King George IV himself had attended the assembly rooms! It had been said that the sudden rush of carriages and the roaring of coachmen was quite the spectacle to behold, and I for one wanted to be a part of all that glittering wealth and aristocracy in the near future.
Of course, growing up in my father’s household, it had always seemed as though it would only be a matter of time before it was my turn to be wooed and seduced by some rakish young fellow at the Assembly Rooms. My family came from old money, my grandfather having being married to the Marquess of Lothian, and as an only child, I’d known that it was my duty to carry on the family line by being married to another old house, maybe the MacGregors or the MacFarlanes. I had been sent to the oldest and finest finishing schools that money could buy, had been taught poetry, ceilidh dancing, and decorum by some of the finest etiquette teachers in the whole of Scotland.
But on my eighteenth birthday, all of my hopes and dreams came crashing down like cheap pottery. I was told to report to my father’s study at my earliest convenience by Buchanan, the butler, and
Similar Books
Eyes Of Danger
M. Garnet
The Price of Discovery
Leslie Dicken
The Good Partner
Peter Robinson
The Easter Egg Murder
Patricia Smith Wood
Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 02 - The Appropriate Way
Rohn Federbush
Taking Liberties
Diana Norman
Seahorses Are Real
Zillah Bethell
Cindy Jones
Margaret Pearce
April Shadows
V. C. Andrews