His Scottish Pet: Dom of the Ages

  His Scottish Pet:

  Dom of the Ages

  By

  Red Phoenix

  His Scottish Pet: Dom of the Ages

  Copyright 2013 by Red Phoenix

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Your support and respect for the property of this author is greatly appreciated.

  Edited by RJ Locksley

  Book cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill

  Phoenix symbol by Nicole Delfs

  Thanks to my two beta readers: Nickimcc and one who wishes to remain anonymous ;)

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Disclaimer: The material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains graphic sexual content. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older.

  CONTENTS

  Master Leon

  Scottish Waif

  Naughty Seamstress

  Kegan & the Crop

  His New Pet

  Her First Flogging

  His Pet’s Pleasure

  The Taking of Her

  Sharing His Pet

  Chrisselle

  Wicked, Wicked Fate

  Good Morrow

  About the Author Red Phoenix

  Master Leon

  Ryce Leon leaned over her bare shoulder and growled lustfully, “What am I called?”

  “Lord Leon.”

  “No.”

  He took her delicate wrists and bound them above her head, pulling the rope tight. He stood back and admired her naked form. Widow Kegan had luscious curves despite having borne four children. “I am Master to you.”

  “Aye,” she moaned softly.

  He moved in close and wrapped his arm just under her breasts. Ryce bit down on her neck before stating, “You will speak to me in proper English.”

  “Yes,” she answered, correcting herself.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  He cupped her breasts, appreciating their fullness before pinching her sensitive nipples. She cried out in aching pleasure. Ryce knew she preferred it rough.

  “I believe I shall give you ten lashings,” he murmured casually.

  “Thank you… Master.”

  His lips traveled to the other side of her neck and he bit down hard. Ryce felt her shift as her knees gave out and her full weight hung from the rope. He waited until she recovered her position.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered, walking away from her.

  She’d waited a week for this and he wasn’t inclined to hurry. He took his whip from the hook and let the thong slowly unfurl. He watched with amusement as her body tensed at the sound it made contacting the floor. He’d constructed a special area in the barn for such encounters. It allowed for the abundance of room required for the wielding of a bullwhip.

  “Are you ready, Kegan? I will not be light.”

  “Ay—yes, Master.”

  He snorted. “An extra one with bite for that slip.”

  She shuddered. Ryce knew if he were to feel between her legs, he would find her already dripping.

  He cocked the bullwhip, extending the length of it behind him. In a relaxed, fluid motion he cast it towards her. It cracked beside her ear, close enough to cause a wisp of hair to move from the air current.

  She whimpered.

  He moved the handle around his head gracefully, following the crack immediately with a solid stroke across her back. She cried out in pleasure as the skin reddened on contract.

  He stopped and let her suffer while she waited for the next stroke. “You crave it, do you not?”

  “Yes, Master. I need the whip.”

  This was their temporary escape. She from the responsibility of being the sole parent of four starving children, and he from the loneliness that resulted from the curse that plagued him.

  “I know you do… and I shall provide!” He cocked the whip again and gave three lashes in quick succession. He relished her lustful cries, watching as her body quivered with desire.

  “Master…”

  Her need called to him, but he forced her to wait; it made for a more passionate coupling. He set his jaw as he delivered four more strokes with added sting. His expertise gave him complete control over the intensity of her experience.

  She struggled against her bonds, swaying her ass seductively.

  Ryce crisscrossed the next set, leaving a lovely red X.

  “Thank you, Master,” she moaned huskily.

  “We are not finished, Kegan.”

  Her muscles stiffened at his words. Oh yes, she knew this one would bite. Again, he waited, allowing the seconds to tick by, satisfied in the knowledge each one was multiplied many times over in Kegan’s mind.

  Ryce delivered the final blow with enough power to make her scream. His cock stirred, demanding its own fulfillment. “Are you ready to please your Master?”

  She twisted on the rope, gasping, “Yes…Master.”

  “I will be rough with you tonight.”

  “Please.”

  He cleaned and oiled his bullwhip, taking his time as she hung on the rope. He wanted her to boil at the peak of her desire before he ravished her. Once the bullwhip was returned to its proper place, he walked over to his temporary slave and began gently untying the ropes. She fell into his arms when the last was released.

  Ryce picked her up and headed towards the cottage. He had chosen a small, unassuming residence this time. Although the locals suspected he was a man of some wealth, they could not be sure how much. He found it better that way. Too much wealth and you became an outcast among the commoners and a prize to be fought over by the aristocrats.

  He laid his conquest on the sizable bed, caressing her pale Scottish skin. Her areolas were a soft brown and contracted alluringly into hard buds under his focused manipulation. Ryce gazed between her legs. She had an attractive patch of chestnut covering her womanly honor.

  Kegan gasped when he brazenly separated her pink outer folds with his hand. He could tell by her dripping moistness that she needed to be consumed.

  It was a rush like no other—transporting a woman to an intense level of passion she could not reach on her own. The ability to deliver both pain and pleasure in equal proportions while leaving the woman desperate and hungry for more was a gift. It was a gift that he could use solely for his pleasure; however, that was not his intent.

  Ryce’s greatest satisfaction came from watching his women climax just before his own release. The feeling equaled no other, bar one…

  He shook his head to rid himself of the unwanted thought and flipped Kegan onto her stomach with more force than he intended. She shrieked in surprise and then panted with anticipation. Yes, this one liked it rough.

  Ryce grabbed her ankles and pulled her closer. “Stay,” he ordered as he ripped off his boots. He crawled on top of her, grateful for the ease of the kilt. He held down her buttocks as he plowed his throbbing staff inside her depths. His cock forced her body to stretch, it was a sensation they both enjoyed.

  She screamed as he drove the full length of his rod into her. “Take it, woman.”

  “I want!” she begged.

  He pushed down on her hips as he delivered stroke after merciless stroke. She grunted, taking his pounding with enthusiasm. His hands dug into her flesh as he plunged into her. Ryce changed angles, rolling his pelvis as he sought even deeper access.

  “Too much,” she whimpered under his beefy frame.

  It was the game she played, asking for more by pretending she couldn’t take it. He grabbed her shoulders for more leverage and delivered the fullness of him. Kegan screamed and then became silent as she lost her
self in the animalistic thrusting. For a short moment in time, everything fell away for the two of them. All pain, horrors of the past, and the cherished memories that made life unbearable now.

  Ryce almost gave into the orgasmic eruption building inside him. He became still to regain control as he waited. Kegan’s body trembled wildly beneath him, her inner muscles massaging his stiff organ as she climaxed. When her caress began to subside he snarled, pulling out from her moist depths to spread his seed over her heart-shaped ass.

  He collapsed beside her and whispered, “Good, Kegan.”

  “Thank you, Master,” she said with a satisfied sigh.

  Thankfully, Kegan only sought this passionate release without wanting emotional attachment. Her world revolved around her children—they were a complication he could ill afford.

  But he had to admit, the constant uprooting was beginning to wear on him. He hoped to stay fifteen years this time, possibly longer. It all depended on how long it took for people to note his ageless face. Eventually, rumors would start and he’d be forced to disappear… or suffer the consequences. The burning rage that he buried in his heart reared its head for a brief moment and he growled ominously under his breath.

  Kegan, who had reached out to him, suddenly froze. He could feel her terror radiating from her.

  Ryce drove it back down; his consuming need for revenge had no place here. These people had done nothing wrong. If he kept a level head, he had many years to look forward to in this quiet Highlands community. Ample time to taste and tease the feminine outcasts of Rannoch. To distract him from the displaced anger, he thought about Avril, the lonely peasant with a comely face despite the deep gashes across her jaw. She deserved to discover the pleasures of a man and the thrill of a good spanking. He had a mind to visit her after he returned from his visit to the Baron of Rannoch.

  Ryce turned his attention back on Kegan, brushing her cheek lightly in reassurance. “I’ll be gone for several days. I have business with Sir Ryan.”

  “No!” she pleaded, grabbing onto his arm in protest. “The Baron is thrawn. Dinnae go!”

  He unclasped her hand and placed it on her stomach. “Proper English, Kegan,” he reminded her coolly, before leaving the bed and walking over to his cupboard. “I am leaving tomorrow.” He gathered most of his food in a worn bag and handed it to her nonchalantly. “Take it or it shall go to waste.”

  Kegan quickly grasped the sack to her chest. “I will make sure it does not, Master.”

  “Fine. Dress and leave. I have a long journey ahead.” He turned to spare her from thanking him. Ryce had to carefully orchestrate his contributions to her large brood. He could let her children starve; however, he could not come across as overly generous either. Charity was not appreciated; he’d learned that lesson long ago.

  Ryce listened with amusement as Kegan walked to the door, noticing the extra lightness in her step. She shut the door quietly before scampering to the barn to retrieve her clothes.

  It pleased him to provide for her and her bairns. He chuckled to himself. Now he was thinking in the native dialect.

  He packed up the rest of the food, leaving only a few pieces of dried meat for supper when he returned. The trip ahead would be arduous, but was required. Ryce must pay homage to the powers that be if he wanted to remain undisturbed. Considered a Saxon by the locals, he was in danger of being ostracized or banished and required the protection of the Baron. It was an unwelcome, but necessary complication when living abroad. He had grown tired of England and needed this chance to spread his wings again.

  Scottish Waif

  The obligatory visit proved more taxing than he presumed. The rain started before he headed out and remained steady, making the travel intolerable. Once there, he found that the Baron of Rannoch, known as a Saxon sympathizer, was a conniving little man who craved only two things: conquering virgins and padding his pitiful frame with jewelry. Ryce was able to provide several unique trinkets to add to the Baron’s collection, but was advised to procure more.

  Ryce was grateful that the Baron was an easy man to manipulate, but he left the manor with a sense of unease. How many others might be pulling on the blaggard’s puppet strings or, worse, biding their time to overthrow the wretch?

  He hefted his saturated cloak back onto his shoulders as he left the expansive manor grounds, letting out a frustrated grunt. He still faced a two-day journey ahead in the rain. The gray haze cast a dreariness over the landscape that seeped into his soul as he listened to the continuous plodding of his horse in the thick Scottish mud. The constant downpour left everything cold, dirty—dank.

  He was extremely disappointed hours later not to see any signs of life in the tiny village he passed through. He’d hoped for a warm draught or at the very least some respite from the relentless torrent. The reason for the village’s desertion became obvious when he headed up the hill on the other side.

  A small band of mourners were gathered at the graveyard. It was not an uncommon sight due to the recent famine, and Ryce was tempted to pass by, but he turned his horse towards the meager assembly to pay his respects to the suffering.

  His boots slapped the mud with an oozing thud as he dismounted. He tied the reins to a small bush and joined the dismal group. There were almost thirty gathered, all in tattered rags. A few old men, several women and an abundance of scrawny children.

  Silence greeted his intrusion. After several strained moments, he snorted authoritatively, “Continue.”

  A few words were said for the woman who had passed and then the mud was thrown upon her emaciated remains. All of them were likely to die the same way. Freezing rain, combined with the famine, posed certain death to the weak and aged.

  A withered hand grasped the sleeve of his drenched cloak. “Take ’er. Ye must take ’er.”

  Ryce patted the old woman’s hand. “There, there. You’re in shock.”

  The old woman tugged on his arm more fiercely. “Ye have to take Chrisselle!”

  The group voiced their agreement, all but one miserable figure who stood away from the group. The girl’s hair was matted and wet, her gaunt figure trembling under her threadbare dress.

  “I cannot,” he replied firmly.

  A skeletal woman holding a tiny babe shouted, “Ye cannae leave ’er haur. My bairns ur starving. We cannae feed ’er!” She pointed to several fresh graves up the hill.

  The entire group echoed a chorus of hearty, “Ayes!”

  “But I am a stranger, for God’s sake. The girl needs to remain with her people.”

  “Nae. We ur starvin’. The lass must go wi’ ye.”

  “I have no use for her,” he protested.

  “She is of age,” the old woman stated, grabbing the girl and thrusting her at Ryce.

  He stepped back to let the girl know he was not interested in the offer being made. She could not have been a more pitiful sight. All skin and bones, the girl was sickly and unkempt.

  The woman carrying the infant added, “She’s a ’ard worker. Aren’t ye, lass?”

  The girl’s hoarse voice came out in the barest of whispers. “Dinnae make me go wi’ heem.”

  “Isnae fur ye to say,” a scraggy wisp of a man snapped. “Ye mathair is deid. We dinnae want ye haur.”

  Ryce had heard enough. It was obvious the village could not spare the food and now that she had no family to look out for her, the girl was certain to die. “Fine. Gather her things.”

  The old woman shook her head slowly.

  Of course, the girl was wearing all she had in the world. Ryce was furious at being put in this position and commanded gruffly to the young lass, “Get on the horse.”

  She did so reluctantly, but he did not miss the muffled sounds of her crying. God’s teeth, what am I getting myself into? He hoisted himself onto his steed and wrapped his wet cloak around her, hoping the shared body heat might warm her.

  Her body was like ice. She’ll probably die along the way, he thought, as he kicked his horse and took off.
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br />   They rode without speaking. It took hours before her sobs finally quieted. Had this responsibility not been thrust upon him, he would have had sympathy for the girl. She’d just lost her mother and was alone in the world in the hands of a stranger. However, he had no interest in caring for her and no one he trusted to hand her off to. For all intents and purposes, he was stuck with the waif.

  “We will stop here for the evening,” he told her, pointing to the rock alcove he had spotted days earlier on his travels through the area. He slipped off the horse and tied the reins to a tree. Ryce held out his hands to catch her and was horrified to feel how light she was. He fished out his supplies from the saddle pack and guided her into the cave, hoping it would provide relief from the unrelenting rain. It was a shame Eventide would have to remain in the downpour, as he knew the horse needed a break from the constant raindrops as much as he did.

  Ryce covered her in his only blanket, knowing it would not be enough to warm her. Had he been alone, he would have skipped a fire that night, but he wasn’t sure she would last until morning without one. It took until dusk to gather enough wood and long into the night before he was able to build a fire from the damp sticks.

  “Sit next to it,” he huffed, in a foul mood after spending hours to coax the flames. He pulled out a dried piece of deer meat from his bag and handed it to her. The girl refused to take what he offered, even though he could hear her stomach growling.

  “Take it,” he ordered. When she failed to obey, he tore off a small piece and knelt next to her. “You can open your mouth or I can force it down your gullet. Doesn’t matter to me.”