A Proper Scottish Wife Ch. 11

He grunted again, almost like the pig he was, and his cock swelled in her mouth. Without word or warning, he rammed his cock its full depth and she felt his cum splash down her throat. She was unable to taste it as it was halfway to her gullet as it left his cock. Just as well. The less she had to taste of McTavish, the better she liked it.

"Aye, your Ladyship, swallow it all." She felt the pulses of his cock against her tongue as each new jet of his cum inundated her throat. "That's right. Get every drop."

When comparing the brutal and uncaring way these two were treating her with the way Thorburn had; loved, wanted, desirable; they fell short. He had tried to ensure that she'd enjoyed their loving as much as he did. With McTavish and Blackthorne, she was nothing but a receptacle for their cum. She finished cleaning his cum from his cock and he dropped his kilt over his now limp member. Teárlag remained kneeling on the floor, waiting for another command from her Master.

"Thanks, Lord Blackthorne. That was a welcome relief," McTavish said. "I'll leave my men there when I vacate the property. If they offer any information that seems useful, I'll send word right away."

"Remember what you've agreed to, McTavish. No drinking or gambling unless I grant you express permission. Keep your mouth shut about our business and your use of Lady Mackintosh. You'll find me an implacable enemy if you cross me."

"You can depend on me," he said.

I doubt it, thought Blackthorne, ringing the bell for the butler, but we'll see.

When the butler knocked, Blackthorne told him to escort McTavish out.

After McTavish left, Teárlag asked Blackthorne if he was finished with her now and she could leave.

"Did you cum while he was fucking you?" Blackthorne asked.

"No, Master. He is not the lover you are." Neither of you are compared to Thorburn, she thought.

"Go get me my riding crop."

"My Master may do as he likes," Teárlag said, "but I would like to remind him I will see Thorburn in a few days. If he still hopes I seduce him, it would be best if I was not carrying my Master's marks on me when it occurred."

"You're right. Bring the paddle instead. It's in my bedroom. Any marks made by the paddle should be gone by Midsummer eve. I remind you, slave, that your cunt is mine. You may use any of your other holes to seduce young Laird Cameron."

"Yes, Master," she said, leaving to get the paddle from his bedroom. She hoped Thorburn had planted a baby in her womb and that Blackthorne would end up raising a Cameron bastard. He'd stuck his pathetic cock in her cunt often enough that even though he'd not climaxed in her, she could claim the child was his. It would serve him right for making her service the disgusting personage of McTavish.

It was much later and a much sorer Teárlag that made her way back through the dungeon to the underground passage. The servant girl was silent. Whether it was because she slept or died, was unknown to her. They were equally likely in her mind. It would be a painful journey back to Dervaig. She could not sit comfortably, so the carriage ride would be unbearable.

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