Claiming Catherine (Montana Maiden Series Book 1) by Vanessa Vale Read Free Book Online Page B

Jake had me wear, it was time for dinner. The housekeeper, Maura, had prepared food if I remembered her name correctly. Jake told me she'd come and gone on purpose, wanting me to settle in before becoming acquainted. My emotions were on shaky footing, to say the least, so I was relieved I didn't have to meet the woman.
    Besides that, I was half naked in the dining room. How could I hold a conversation with my breasts on full display? I'd never seen them lifted and thrust forth in such a manner. Instead of trying to minimize my bust line as I'd done since I was sixteen, it seemed Jake had the opposite intent in mind. Mr. Beecham had scorned me for having one button undone. He'd called me a slattern for just that small infraction, so what would I be called if he saw me now?
    It was quite difficult to accustom myself to the cork up inside me, and I was fearful it would dislodge as I moved. My bottom was parted obscenely. I could feel how wide open I was and didn't even want to consider what I looked like. I couldn't walk normally. I had to push my bottom out to seek comfort, yet while doing so, it only thrust my breasts forward even more. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't walk in any other fashion, but I didn't want Jake to think I was brazen to have my breasts jut forth almost upon him.
    I burst into tears. Again. Would I ever stop crying?
    "What is it, sweetheart?" Jake asked, his dark eyes laced with concern.
    "I...I'm a harlot," I sobbed.
    He pulled me into his arms and rubbed my back. It felt strange feeling the soft cotton of his shirt against my exposed breasts.
    "Who called you that?" His voice was laced with anger. I was afraid to answer. "Who, Catherine?"
    "Mr. ... Mr. Beecham." I sniffled.
    He muttered something under his breath. "I have no idea who this Mr. Beecham is, but he should be shot. You are not a harlot. You are my wife. No one shall disrespect you like that again. I'll kill them first."
    A chill ran down my spine at his protective and menacing tone. "Then why am I dressed like one?"
    "You are not dressed like a harlot. Sweetheart, you must forget the social rules of where you're from." He pushed me back so I was forced to look him in the eyes. "Don't you see? You're so beautiful. I want to see your breasts at all times. I want to be able to touch them, suck on them, whenever I want. You're dressed this way because I respect and treasure you, all of you. And when I toss up your skirts? It pleases me to see your ass claimed as mine. And you'll keep the cork or plug in proudly as a sign of being my wife, because it pleases me to have you do so."
    This is how a man saw his wife? This is how Jake saw me? As beautiful? Beautiful enough to want me all the time? Even displayed thusly?
    I refused the cork at first, but I had agreed to the miserable intrusion because I didn't want the repeated embarrassment of the pill oozing out of me again. When Jake had asked me if I wanted the cork this time, there had been this perverse, unrecognizable ache that built at the very mention of it. Then, when Sam's fingers pressed the pill and the cork within me, I'd wanted him to touch me there, even though I was sobbing for him to stop. Sam! Not my husband, but Sam! What was wrong with me? Now that I was corked, I felt open, spread wide. It was just shy of painful, more of a burning, stretching sensation. The fact that I couldn't close up was a distraction and frustration. I would think of it within me constantly, just as Jake had said. The fact that it pleased him that I accepted it, that I knew I was the only woman who he wanted this way, made me feel... oddly cherished.
    I was so confused, my brain muddled. I'd had Sam's hands, not my husbands, on my naked body, working something deep into my...my fuck hole.
    "But Sam ... he, he touched me. What kind of married woman lets other men touch her?"
    "Sam and Cole can help me with your cork, if required, but that's it. No one, and I mean no one, touches you but me."
    I saw the