Staking Their Claim by Ava Sinclair

fingers—wasn’t the only thing throbbing. Between her legs was a different kind of throb that had started when the Englishman had told her she’d be punished. That throbbing had become a pulsating pressure between her legs by the time Nigel Simms had cradled her onto his lap. He smelled of leather and spices, and as she’d regained her composure in the safety of his strong embrace, she’d told herself there were a hundred different reasons why that secret place between her legs would thrum with such need. She was scared. She was nervous. She was confused. He’d bared her intimately. She had a list of excuses, but none of them included want. None of them included need.
    It made no sense. Why would such harsh correction result in such a hungry ache between her legs? She did not know, but she could not deny the need to touch herself where that ache centered.
    Turning in front of the glass, she removed her gown and dropped it on the floor as she looked over her shoulder. She whimpered anew at the sight of her bottom. It was blotchy red from the spanking over Nigel’s lap, and marred by clean red lines one after another from the cane. Jenny turned again, forcing herself to look at the juncture between her thighs. She’d never really looked at herself, but she was so curious about the ache she felt, and so desperate to relieve it.
    She’d had little education on carnal matters, but knew enough to know that what she felt was a private need, a woman’s need. And it was nearly as unbearable as the pain in her bottom. She could not relieve the latter. But the former?
    Jenny’s hand strayed down to the downy curls. She flushed anew, the color creeping from her face all the way down to the tops of her full breasts. The springy fleece covering her pubic mound was wet. She slid her finger lower to the top of the cleft, and took a deep breath as for the first time she breached the slit, her fingertips seeking the force of the ache.
    “Oh!” She cried the word out softly, for her own touch made the ache worse. It was as if her body was crying out to be stroked and soothed. The need was concentrated above the slick folds tucked inside the plump outer lips. Dragging her fingers up, she gasped at the sensation, her mind unwillingly flashing back to the first spanking she’d gotten from Cody, and the second from Nigel.
    She bit her lip as she moved her fingers back and forth across a small nub that pulsed at her touch, begging for more. Jenny rubbed again, and the sensation of pleasure that coursed through her brought her to her knees. There was a gush of wetness and at first she thought she’d lost control of her bladder. But no, that was not it. When she withdrew her shaking hand, she could see it was slick with clear fluid that carried a light tangy smell. She flushed, remembering the same faint tang at Cora’s. Lust. Had Nigel been aware of it when he was punishing her? She closed her eyes, ashamed.
    Oh, what must he think of me? What should I think of myself?
    She again thought of May, thrashing her head back and forth, carried to a place of carnal pleasure by the attentions of two men. A prostitute, a slave to her own desires. She’d told herself she was nothing like that woman. But wasn’t she? May had tensed under one of the men—tensed and screamed. Jenny had tensed, had wanted to scream just moments before.
    Oh, no. No. No. It’s bad.
    Suddenly the juvenile dress seemed safer, more comforting—a reminder that she was the ward of these men and not their whore. Their attentions were—as the Englishman said—intended to be paternal. They were not intended to be carnal. And she had no business feeling pleasure when she should only feel remorse for her disobedience.
    She hastily donned the stockings, undergarments, and pink dress, before washing her hands and face in the bowl on the washstand by the door. Next she braided her hair in two plaits, pleased when the image staring back at her looked every bit the pampered