This is a fan fiction story based on characters from the Lonesome Dove television show, which belong to Rysher Entertainment and Hallmark. No infringement on copyrights is intended. All other characters and storylines belong to me.
Rated: NC-17, m/f, coerced/consensual, some B/D content
The following story is the sequel to The Young Master. This one is pure smut for the fun of it.
Feedback would still be great!
Colleen J. MacLennan
Clay watched her move about the guesthouse parlor, dusting as if he wasn’t there. Her disdain of him seemed to have returned in full. He could only surmise that the lessons of the previous night, harsh though they were, had been merely temporary.
No matter. The most fun he ever had was in the taming of her, and this way, she gave him endless opportunities to bend her to his will.
She waved the feather duster over some books on a shelf, and then bent low to pick up the shirt he’d tossed on the floor that morning. He always made a small mess before she was to clean the guesthouse, just to keep her there longer, and to make her feel her place as his servant.
She didn’t appear in the least subservient, however, and the more she ignored his presence, the more determined he felt to impress her with it.
She bent over again a few feet from him, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she presented her rump to his face most deliberately, as if to show her disrespect in no uncertain terms. He started to feel outright anger, but suddenly noticed how nice her wide, round bottom was, even covered by its layers of clothing, and he remembered in vivid detail how nice it was when uncovered, too. The image gave him a devious idea, one that might alter her attitude while also providing him with great enjoyment.
"Rachel," he called to her. Already, he felt the start of an erection. "Your clothing seems a little hot for all that hard work you’re doing. Don’t you think?"
She turned to look at him for the first time since she’d arrived, poking a stray bit of hair back under her scarf. "I feel cool enough, Marse Clay," she said before bustling past him to dust the mantel.
He stood up and stepped toward her. "Well ... I can hear that your tongue is cold as ice, but I can’t help but worry that you’re gonna overheat yourself with the way you’re rushing to get done here."
She stopped with her back to him and stiffened as he ran his hands down her shoulders to her waist.
"Seems to me your dress is awful tight on you," he said, turning her around. "I think it might be wise to loosen a few of these buttons in front, just to let you breathe some."
Slowly, he unbuttoned the bodice of her cotton summer dress three quarters of the way and peeled it open to reveal the chemise underneath. Her breathing was coming faster, though whether that was from excitement or anger, he didn’t know. All he cared about was the way it enhanced the swell of her breasts.
"Marse Clay, this isn’t the time for playing. I’ve got real work to do," she told him.
So it was anger. At least she knew better than to push him away.
"And I’m gonna let you do your work," he assured her. He stroked her throat and let his fingers stray to the tops of her breasts. "I only want to remove some of these things confining you while you’re at it."
He began to unbutton the chemise, too, and she pulled back at that, raising her arms to cover her chest.
"My dress isn’t confining me, Marse Clay. I’ll be just fine with it on, thank you."
He frowned and jerked her arms down. "That’s enough sass from you, girl. I told you last night I was gonna give you a whipping if you didn’t mind me, and I think it’s about time I did just that."
He twirled her around and bent her over the back of the armchair so her bottom was high in the air and her feet barely touched the floor on her tiptoes.
"Marse Clay!" she said in obvious fury.
"You stay right there, Rachel," he ordered. "You’re not to move one inch. If I find you anywhere but over that chair when I return, you will get the beating of your life, you hear me?"
He strode to his bedroom and found the old riding crop he’d threatened her with the night before. Coming back to the sitting room, he was pleased to note that she’d done as she was told for a change. Apparently, his threat had truly frightened her.
He put the crop on the chair seat in front of her nose to let her see what consequences her ornery nature had brought her to, and then he went behind her, taking his time to lift her skirt.
"Please, Marse Clay!" she said. She gripped the arms of the velvet chair. "It was just a game! I wasn’t truly sassing you!"
He smiled, reminded how their game the previous night was also spiced by her uncertainty. That was the trick – tip her off balance, literally and figuratively, until she didn’t know what would happen next. That fear in her gave him precisely the control he sought, as well as abundant arousal.
There was no need to hold the skirt up – it stayed nicely in place on the downward angled slope of her back. Underneath, she wore the same drawers, and he considered simply opening the split again to accommodate him, but her beautiful backside convinced him otherwise. He wanted to see the full effect of the whipping on her smooth, well-padded cheeks. Unfortunately, she was in no position to remove them herself. He had no choice but to rip them open.
"Oh! Marse Clay, I only have one other set of drawers to wear for the year!" she said as he tore the seat to expose her bottom completely.
"I’ll get you another pair," he said, in a rather agreeable mood of a sudden.
"Please don’t beat me! Please, Clay? I’ll do anything else you want–"
"You’ll do everything else I want and this, so stop squirming, Rachel. I’ve been far too lenient on you. Just be thankful I didn’t take you to the overseer for your punishment."
"Your father would never let you–"
"My father wanted you in his bed," Clay said, his anger rising once more. "He would’ve had you whipped and more if you dared sass him."
He ran his hands over her bottom and splayed her legs out to show more of her vulva below. The urge was beyond his control – he had to dip two of his fingers in between those pouting lips to slide them along the moist crevice and up inside her.
Rachel gasped at the invasion and writhed in a different way. She moaned and laid her head on the chair’s seat, arching her back as if inviting him to take her.
He stroked her vagina with wiggling fingers, drawing more wetness from her, but abruptly pulled away and reached for the crop. "No, darlin’, you are not getting out of it that way. I said I was gonna whip you and I’m a man of my word."
He thought it might be useful to caress her with the instrument of her punishment between the legs first, letting her feel the rough sensation of the stiff, braided leather on her most delicate flesh so she could further consider the error of her ways. After that, he flexed the crop and sliced it through the air a few times, making a noise to frighten her. But at the moment he meant to strike her with it, his resolve faltered. The leather was too thick and coarse – it could do more damage to her tender skin than he intended.
Not letting her see that he’d set the whip aside, he raised his hand instead, open flat, and smacked her hard on the right cheek.
"Ow!" she yelped. She closed her thighs and clenched her bottom at the shock. "No, please don’t, Clay! Please?"
"Spread your legs again, Rachel, the way I had them. Your toes better be touching the legs of the chair for every swat or I’ll do it twice as long, I swear."
"No!" she said in stubborn refusal.
"Don’t make me use the crop on you, girl! This is your last chance!"
With obvious reluctance, she opened her legs for him as he ordered, giving him that lovely view of her pussy he so liked. He could hardly restrain his desire to fuck her right then, but he’d never master her if he couldn’t master his own drives.
He stood to her left side for the best angle, and commenced to spanking her once more, landing his swats squarely on their target. The open-handed slaps stung his palm, though from her muffled cries and restless twitching, he imagined her rump felt the burning sting somewhat more. Within a couple of seconds, he was pleased – and more than a little excited – to see a rosy glow adorn her light skin.
He’d never thought to whip Rachel like a naughty child. Of course, he’d seen slaves whipped for their laziness and other transgressions, and he’d even become aroused by the sight on the few occasions that a woman was the recipient, especially when he could see her breasts bared and shaking. But he always felt a little sick about that, and could hardly admit it to himself, no less partake of the guilty pleasure himself.
This was entirely different, however. He wasn’t really hurting her – her skin wasn’t being torn, nor would the pain run that deep or long. Only her pride was being bloodied, and that stubborn streak needed a firm hand to control it anyway.
After a minute or so of whimpering, she took to breathing hard to release her pain, determined apparently to stifle all noises that might give him satisfaction.
Two could play that game, he thought with a smile. He took careful aim for the sensitive area at the curve of her buttocks and delivered a particularly hot smack. She let out a small shriek at the impact, and just as he’d been hoping, her legs strayed from their designated position, both knees bending up as if to kick at his hand. He jumped at the opportunity to reprimand her.
"Put your legs down now, Rachel," he said in a stern voice.
A long moment passed before she sniffed and lowered her legs, though she did not separate them. Her thighs and bottom clamped tightly closed in self-protection, and she seemed on the verge of saying something. If he guessed rightly, it was something sharp.
"Rachel, I will not tell you again. Open your legs at once."
Still, she didn’t move. "You are hateful, Clay Mosby!" she said. "Go ahead. Beat me with that riding crop. Beat me to death! See if I care!"
He exhaled hard and stood at her upturned bottom. The redness drew his touch and he rubbed it in soothing circles, marveling at its warmth, which generated further heat inside his trousers.
Her outburst was understandable – she’d never had a spanking before, from him or anyone else, he suspected. Her previous owners treated her like a daughter and were the ones to blame for leading her astray like this. Naturally, she believed herself above corporal punishment. It would take time to correct her misconceptions.
Slowly and firmly, he prized her legs apart and repositioned them.
"Because of your continued disobedience, darlin’, you will have to spread yourself even wider now," he said, his voice as soothing as his touch. He followed this instruction with gentle caresses between her legs. He’d taken the wrong approach at first. Loving discipline would have more effect.
She still felt tense with anger beneath his hand. He stroked over the nub barely hidden in her pussy until a tiny moan escaped and she wiggled her hips. She might want him to think she was impervious to him, but her wetness, flowing copiously, told him otherwise.
"It won’t be much longer now," he said to reassure her. "If you keep yourself open and accept your punishment willingly, I’ll stop after ten more swats. You think you can do that?"
She squirmed and moaned and whimpered as his hand worked her toward climax. "I don’t want to...."
"I know, darlin’, but it’s for your own good." He could tell by her ragged breathing and the contractions of her vagina on his fingers that she would come very soon.
"Please, Clay?" she whispered.
He pulled his hand away to prevent her from coming yet. He was very pleased to note that she kept her legs wide apart as he’d placed them, though it appeared to be quite a struggle for her. Best to give her the last of the spanking while she was aroused. The stinging would be easier to take then, and might even enhance her excitement. That way, the next time he deemed a spanking necessary....
He smiled to think about it as he swatted her quivering bottom ten more times in rapid succession. Her gasps and cries sounded more like an orgasm than a reaction to pain, however, and she drew her knees up and outward, as if to grip the chair like a lover. Her movements were a slight breach of orders, but he didn’t care.
It took less than five seconds to open the fly of his pants and drawers, and slide his cock into her, riding the last of her climax with one of his own.
When it was over, he rested until his panting slowed, noticing with pleasure how warm her buttocks were against his belly. On a cold winter night, this would be a perfect way to stay warm in bed, he thought idly.
Business called; he hadn’t administered her whole punishment. Standing up on unsteady legs, he tucked himself back into his trousers.
With his weight removed, Rachel slid herself off the chair, the flush in her face and upper chest pronounced from both the position she’d been in and the sex. She, too, found it difficult to stand as she smoothed her skirt down and went to button her chemise.
He grasped her wrists and pulled her hands away from the task. "I didn’t give you permission to cover yourself, Rachel," he said.
She looked at him in surprise, and then anger crept back into her eyes. "You’ve had your fun, Marse Clay. But I told you before, I have work to do."
"And I told you, I’d let you do that work – after your clothing was adjusted." He turned her around and lifted the hem of her skirt again, rolling it in the center to bunch at her waist. In this manner, her reddened bottom was once more exposed to his appreciative gaze. "Put your hands back here and hold your skirt up," he said, his voice curt.
Exhaling in a huff, she held the skirt as he’d placed it.
He went to the bedroom and came back with his belt. Threading it around her waist, he buckled it behind her, across the makeshift bustle to secure it out of the way.
"Face me now, and leave your hands against your back, palms out," he directed.
She complied with a glare.
He ignored her displeasure and calmly unbuttoned her chemise, also three quarters of the way. Carefully, he spread the two garments she wore open to expose her large breasts. God, he loved her breasts! He drew them, one at a time, further out of the bodice, so that the tightness of her dress and the closed buttons beneath actually forced them upward and slightly together. At the same time, her hands were still pressed against her waist behind, which forcibly arched her back to thrust her chest out and accentuate the delicious display
He squeezed and stroked the soft fullness with both hands and pinched the nipples to make them harder. Goosebumps prickled her café au lait skin and a shiver ran through her. It amused him that, despite her glares, she still felt aroused by his hands on her.
To frame the picture even more, he tucked the loose flaps of chemise and bodice inside the dress, ensuring that nothing would interfere in the enjoyment he would feel, watching her heavy breasts bounce and dangle as she performed her duties.
"There. You are now properly attired to finish your chores for me," he said, backing away to admire the sight.
She tipped her head up in defiance. "I have to wash your ... leavings ... from me first."
He smiled at her attempt to insult him. "When you’re done, you may wash. For the moment, you can let my ‘leavings’ run down your thighs to remind you of your place here."
He retrieved the duster from where she’d dropped it on the floor earlier and grinned as he brushed the feathers over her nipples lightly.
She snatched the tool from his hand, and with one more look of fury, turned to resume her cleaning. In her haste to escape his leer, she remembered too late, it seemed, that her backside offered him just as much to look at.
They remained in silence, except for her angry huffs and his amused sighs, and Clay followed her about the three rooms as she hurried through this part of the task. The show was exquisite, especially when she had to stand on tiptoes and stretch her arms above her head to reach the paintings and taller furniture. Her breasts were lifted high then, and could be seen clearly as each vigorous movement of her arms caused them to dance and sway with wild abandon. The light brown nipples jutted out, and would harden anew each time she accidentally brushed them against the objects she cared for.
Nevertheless, he was glad she made short work of the dusting, because the real show would begin after that, and he had plans for that convenient tuft of feathers.
"Bring me the duster, Rachel," he said before she could lay it down. She straightened up and narrowed her eyes at him. The frown had never left her face, but somehow, she made her glare even more hateful as she carried the duster to him with arms crossed over her chest. She relinquished it, handle first, like the thrust of a dagger.
"Thank you," he said, in mock gratitude. "Now put your arms down. You will not deliberately cover yourself or hide from my sight while you’re working today. Is that understood?"
She dropped her arms to her sides, stiff as boards. "Yes, Marse Clay." The words could not have been more sarcastic than if she’d spit at him.
He stared again at her breasts. Ah, he could spend hours playing with and suckling at those glorious breasts! Even as he looked at them, he could feel their pillowy softness against his face when he rested his head on them, her hand stroking through his hair....
He tore himself from the pleasant daydream.
"Good," he told her with a nod toward his bedroom. "You can go back to your work now."
She turned tail, literally, and stalked into his room. He noticed the redness on her bottom had faded a little, but was still quite visible. He found he enjoyed seeing the evidence of his attention to her there, and the fact that it likely reminded her of him with every throbbing step. He would have to find some reason to spank her again soon, only with her breasts hanging free as well, so he could watch them jiggle from the swats and her struggling reactions.
She changed the bed linens next, which confined her for a time, bending and straightening and tucking, all within his reach. Clay stood a step from the foot of the bed to observe, and the first time she passed by him to strip off the old bedding, he tickled her rouged bottom with the duster.
She whirled away from the unwanted sensation, her hands flying behind her to rub the itch away. "Can’t you leave me be for one second, Clay Mosby?" she demanded. "Isn’t it enough you got me prancin’ like a horse in a ring, showin’ you everything God gave me?"
He smiled, realizing how easy it was going to be to find a pretext for further spanking sessions.
"Get your hands back in front of you, darlin’," he said in the mildest of tones. "And I better not see them behind you again, or you’ll be getting another lesson over the back of that chair in there."
She sucked in a deep, angry breath by way of reply, though it only succeeded in causing her breasts to heave nicely.
Each time she was forced to pass him then, he brushed the feathers lightly over her wounded pride. At one point, when she tried to relieve the itch by rubbing surreptitiously against the side table, he put a stop to that as well.
"You may not rub yourself, Rachel," he told her, amusement in his voice. "But if you’d like, you may ask me to rub your bottom for you and I’ll be delighted to assist you."
She simply snorted in disdain and continued to smooth out the wrinkles from a newly laid sheet, which made him laugh.
When the beds were done, one significant task remained, the one he’d been waiting for with the greatest anticipation – sweeping the floor and carpets. He only regretted that he couldn’t make her hang the carpets outdoors to beat. It was ferociously strenuous work, and for that reason, was done just four times a year. But he’d love to see her in the full sunlight dressed in this fashion as she swung the wire beater, the sweat sheening her bared parts, her breasts swinging and jouncing, her buttocks and thighs flexing.
She seemed rather less pleased to have an additional chore that would put her at his teasing mercy, and somewhat more in a rush to complete it. She pushed past him to get the broom and dustpan from where she’d left them by the entry door, but he left her free from molestation for the moment. Opportunities would soon present themselves aplenty.
She always began with Robert’s bedroom and that’s where she started this time. Robert was not as fastidious as Clay, but he usually tried not to give her more than the necessary workload on her cleaning day. Clay smirked to see how his brother had attempted to pick up his dirty clothing. He normally tossed it on the floor wherever he stood while removing it, but today it was in a neat pile in a corner behind the door. Rachel squatted to gather it in her arms, and she seemed grateful to Robert for his unintentional aid in covering at least part of herself before she had to deposit the lot on the laundry pile in the parlor.
After that, she rolled the sweeper over the thick, wool carpet, which was strenuous enough in itself to raise a sweat that trickled down between her breasts and the cleft of her rump. He knew from his own experience that the itch would be nearly unbearable, but to his disappointment, she did not resort to his offer of assistance.
The portions of the floor left bare, she attacked with the broom, and all her movements resulted in extensive bouncing of her breasts and derriere. When it came time to sweep the dirt into the pan, she started to squat again, but he stopped her this time, wise to her trick.
"No, Rachel," he said loud enough to startle her. "Stand up."
She did so, but with her side to him as she stared straight ahead.
"Turn with your backside to me."
With an exasperated sigh, she complied again. "I’m never gonna get this cleaning done, Marse Clay, with you always tellin’ me to turn this way and that," she complained. "And you know your mamma’s gonna send someone to look for me if I don’t get back to her soon."
"My mother knows you’re safe with me," he said. "She won’t interfere with my business."
"Hmph," she grunted, but she remained silent on her own opinions.
"Now, spread your legs for balance and bend from the waist," he instructed. "And take your time with that sweeping, Rachel. I intend to enjoy the view."
She let out another scornful grunt as she obeyed, helplessly giving Clay a long look at her bottom from a most advantageous angle.
Sunlight from the open window streamed toward her upturned cheeks as if to illuminate them for his convenience. Excitement filled him and his cock to see that this position exposed her more thoroughly than any other he’d thought to place her in. Her bottom was spread so wide, the small pink bud of her anus revealed itself boldly, twitching and distending from her exertions with the broom, and the mouth of her vulva opened to wag its tongue at him in brazen invitation.
He could see now, also, that his ‘leavings’ had indeed made their way to her thighs, though some of the sticky cream clung stubbornly to those velvet lips. He liked the idea that she felt it lubricating her every step, a thick wetness that came from him and sealed his ownership of her.
He made her repeat the performance in the parlor, and finally in his own bedroom. There, he had an added treat due to his forethought.
Prior to her arrival, he had kicked some dirty clothing under the bed, along with an old book of Latin grammar and a pocketknife, just to make her get on all fours to retrieve them. He hadn’t known then how fortuitous that would prove.
The task forced her to turn her bottom up high in the air, which spread her cheeks as wide as in the standing position. And more interestingly, it forced her anus to open. He tickled her mercilessly with the stroke of the feathers to see her muscles contract and relax in an attempt to relieve the itch. Her stifled gasps at the torment made him laugh softly as she struggled to reach the items under his bed without the aid of the broomstick, which he’d forbidden her to use.
She seemed to be taking longer than necessary, however, and upon closer inspection, he noticed a languorous rotation of her hips and more moisture forming between her legs.
"You little minx!" he said, laughing and pulling her to her feet.
Her face was as red as her bottom, and the flush wasn’t only due to exertion. She lowered her head and looked up at him from under her lashes.
He left her and went to sit on a padded chair a few feet away. "Come here, darlin’." He beckoned her with his hands.
She walked to him and he turned her around.
"Bend forward a little and spread your legs for me."
She followed his orders meekly now. He took a wash cloth, wet it, and holding her upper thigh with his left hand, wiped her clean from front to back, using slow, tender strokes. He heard her sigh and felt a trembling beneath his hand where his thumb pressed under the curve of her buttock.
He set the cloth aside and held her like that with both hands to steady her while he kissed each of her reddened cheeks and gave them a light lick to taste the salty skin. That drew a deep sigh from her and the trembling in her legs increased. With a few final strokes of his hand between her legs and over her bottom, he unbuckled his belt from her waist and let the skirt fall to cover her.
He stood then and gave her rump a pat before turning her back to face him. Cupping her breasts, he bent to lick and suckle the nipples for a moment, finishing with a kiss to each. She began to sway on her feet and moan, and when he straightened, he saw she had closed her eyes. She opened them again and watched his fingers as he buttoned her back into the chemise and dress.
He tipped her head up to make her look at him then and she melted against him, laying her head on his shoulder. He put his arms around her and cuddled her, accepting her submission and inordinately pleased to feel that she truly wanted his touch.
From her place within his embrace, she murmured, "Why’ve you been so hard on me lately, Clay? I haven’t done anything to make you so mean to me."
He laughed a little and rocked her, enjoying how she felt against his body. "Why were you waving your tail in my face today? Surely you knew I wouldn’t let that provocation go by unremarked."
"I wasn’t provoking you."
"No?" He leaned back and gave her a skeptical look.
She smiled. "Well ... maybe just a little."
"Hm." He stroked down her back to squeeze her bottom, making her whimper and push closer to him. "Then you deserved your punishment, didn’t you?"
She said nothing for a moment as she tucked her head under his chin and ran a hand over his chest. "Don’t hit me anymore, please, Clay?"
"I didn’t hit you. I spanked you like the naughty little girl you were. There’s a big difference."
"Then don’t spank me anymore."
"Oh, I don’t think I can promise that," he said with a chuckle. "I’ve got to have some way to curb your misbehavior. Seems to me, a regular spanking every week might do you some good."
"You wouldn’t!" she said, indignation in her voice.
She pushed away from him, but he her held her tight at the waist to prevent her escape.
"Next cleaning day, in fact, I think you might be sorely in need of a good, strong spanking," he said. "So when you come in, I’d suggest you take your drawers off first thing."
He laughed and kissed her until she stopped squirming.
When he drew his mouth from hers, she said, "I have to get the laundry to the wash house, Clay."
He released her with great reluctance. He could play with her like this all day, but they both had work to do, and his father might take too much notice of their assignations if their respective duties suffered.
She hurried to empty the dustpan outside and tie the laundry into one of the bed sheets. He helped her hoist the compact bundle to her head, wondering at her ability to balance it there, and handed her the other cleaning implements to carry rolled in her apron. When giving her the feather duster, however, he couldn’t resist a devilish grin.
"I’ve been thinking, Rachel. You ought to leave your drawers off altogether next cleaning day," he said to her as he opened the door for her. "That’ll keep your mind properly focused for the occasion."
"Hmph!" she snorted.
He gave her rump one last affectionate swat as she stepped out into the afternoon light.
Colleen J. MacLennan