Page 19 of Claimed by the Clan Chief

“Go over there.” He nodded at the table and released her wrist. “And face the window.”

A tremble caught in her belly. Her feet felt rooted to the floor.

“Now!”

“Yes, sir.” She hurried to the table, her belly tight and her pulse thudding in her ears. The material of her dress scratched against her smarting ass cheeks.

She stared out of the window, but didn’t see anything in the courtyard. Instead she studied his reflection as he put on his kilt and sporran. He then added his shirt, tunic, and plaid before sitting and lacing up his boots.

The anticipation was almost as agonizing as the slaps he’d delivered.

When he was fully dressed he came to stand at her side.

She dared to look at him and despite her nervousness she admired his handsome face and the way his clothes hung on his tall, strong body.

“This,” he said, setting the handkerchief on the table before her, “has just earned you twenty strikes. It should be more, but I have only a wee bit of time right now.”

“Strikes?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, lass. Bend over.” He nodded at the table.

She tightened her buttocks and her pussy contracted. Setting her hands on the cool wooden surface, she bent forward.

“Here.” He held a thick wooden peg in front of her face. “Bite on this. I don’t wish for you to cry out; if you do, later, when I have more time, I will deliver another twenty strikes.”

She opened her dry mouth and he set the hard peg between her teeth. She bit down on it, her teeth seeming to sink into the wood.

“And keep still,” he said, moving to her side and once again pulling up her skirts.

They settled over her back as her buttocks were exposed. A quiver went through her pussy and over her skin.

This is going to be so much worse than the last two strikes.

She closed her eyes and locked her knees together. Part of her wished she’d never taken the handkerchief but she’d had no choice, she’d needed something of his for the spell.

Shall I run, get away?

The thought was so brief it was barely there. She couldn’t avoid her punishment. McTavish was determined about it and even more than that, she’d earned it.

“Legs apart,” he said, his voice firm. He touched her ankles with his boot.

She did as instructed and instantly a flame of heat raged over her right buttock. He’d spanked her with gusto, his palm seeming to burn against her skin.

A shocked cry caught in her throat and rattled around the peg.

“This is your one and only reminder to keep quiet.”

She clenched her fists and curled her toes. Her pussy was damp and every muscle tense.

Another slap struck her ass, the opposite buttock this time.

She danced onto her toes and shifted her hips from left to right.

“Keep still, Isla. It’s clear you need to be taken in hand by a strong man, this is bad behaviour.”

The word sorry was on her lips but couldn’t come out.

The spanking continued. She had no idea how many slaps rained down, they all blurred into one.

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