Chapter 5: The Highland Gauntlet
The marquess had barely settled into his velvet chair at the edge of the dais when Lord Ashworth stepped forward. The young baron's cravat hung loose, his breeches still unfastened from his earlier exertions with Elara, and he wore the smug grin of a man who had not yet learned the difference between appetite and endurance.
"I heard the Highland lass took the marquess to the root," Ashworth said, loud enough for the nearest guests to hear. "I'd like to test that claim myself."
Catriona looked up from the chaise. Her copper curls tumbled about her shoulders, damp at the temples, and her lips were still swollen from the marquess's use. She smiled slowly, and it was not a gentle thing.
"Then come here, my lord," she said, patting the velvet cushion beside her knees. "And bring your friends if you have them."
A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd. Ashworth's grin flickered, then widened. He climbed the three shallow steps to the dais and stood before her, hands on his hips. His cock hung half-erect, already slick with oil from his earlier activities, and he made no move to hide his eagerness.
The dark-haired baron followed him up the steps. Then another man, a broad-shouldered viscount Catriona did not recognize, and then a fourth, a lean knight with a weathered face and grey at his temples. Four of them arranged themselves in a loose semicircle around the chaise, their cocks in various states of readiness.
Catriona surveyed them with the calm eye of a shopper at market. She rose from her knees and walked to Ashworth first, trailing a finger across his chest.
"You watched the marquess spend in my throat," she said. "Did you think I was finished?"
Ashworth's cock stiffened under her touch. "I thought you might need a rest."
"I came to this ball to be used, my lord. Not to rest." She dropped to her knees before him, the velvet cushion soft beneath her. "Now hold still and let me show you what the Highlands teach their daughters."
She took his cock in her hand first, stroking it to full hardness with firm, practiced pulls. Ashworth's breath hitched. His hand came down to tangle in her hair, and she let him grip her curls, let him pull her head forward until his cock bumped against her closed lips.
"Open," he said, and she did.
She took him slowly, inch by inch, her tongue flattening along the underside of his shaft. Ashworth groaned. The dark-haired baron stepped closer, stroking himself as he watched, and Catriona raised one hand to take his cock while her mouth worked Ashworth. She pumped him with the same rhythm she used to swallow, her thumb circling the head, and the baron's hips began to jerk forward.
"That's it," the baron muttered. "Use that hand, lass. Make me spend like you made the marquess."
Catriona ignored him. Her focus belonged to Ashworth. She pushed deeper, taking him past her soft palate, and the familiar stretch of her throat opened to receive him. She had done this many times. She knew how to breathe through her nose, how to relax her jaw, how to let a man's cock slide down her gullet until her lips pressed against his pubic bone.
Ashworth gasped. His fingers tightened in her hair, and he began to thrust, shallow at first, then deeper. Catriona took him, swallowing around the head each time he withdrew, and the wet sounds of her throat filled the quiet ballroom.
"God above," Ashworth breathed. "She doesn't even flinch."
The dark-haired baron crowded closer, pressing his cock against her cheek. She turned her head just enough to take him in her mouth, and now she had two of them, one down her throat, one sliding between her lips. She worked them in counterpoint, one hand wrapped around the base of each, her mouth stretched wide and wet.
The viscount moved behind her. His hands found the laces of her gown, and she felt the bodice loosen, felt her breasts spill free into the cool air. He cupped them from behind, thumbs circling her nipples, and she moaned around the cock in her throat.
"That's a good cunt," the viscount said. "Taking two at once and still panting for more."
Catriona pulled off the dark-haired baron with a wet pop. "The cock in my throat is the only one I care about, my lord. The rest of you can wait your turn."
She returned to Ashworth with renewed purpose, taking him to the root in one smooth motion. Her nose pressed against his belly. She held there, throat convulsing around him, and Ashworth cried out and spent down her gullet. She swallowed every drop, feeling his cock pulse against her tongue, and when she finally pulled back, she licked her lips.
Ashworth staggered back, spent and shaking. The crowd applauded.
The dark-haired baron stepped forward before the applause died, his cock rigid in his fist. "My turn," he said.
Catriona wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "You spent inside Elara less than an hour ago. Are you certain you have anything left for me?"
The baron's jaw tightened. "I have plenty."
"Show me, then."
She took him as she had taken Ashworth, with deliberate, swallowing slowness. But the baron was thicker, and she had to work her jaw wider, had to grip the base of him with both hands to guide him past her teeth. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away with her wrist.
The viscount moved around to kneel beside her. He took her breast in his hand, squeezing gently, and she let him, her attention fixed on the cock sliding down her throat. He leaned in and took her nipple between his lips, sucking hard, and she felt a jolt of pleasure shoot down her spine.
She moaned around the baron's cock. The vibration made him shudder, and he pushed deeper, one hand at the back of her head, forcing her down until her throat bulged with him.
"That's it," he grunted. "Take me, you Highland slut. Take every inch."
She did. She held herself there, one hand stroking his balls, the other pressed flat against his thigh, and when he came, she felt his seed jet directly into her stomach. She swallowed again and again, draining him, and he fell back with a groan that the whole room heard.
The viscount released her nipple and stood. His cock was thick and ruddy, already leaking. "I want your mouth," he said.
Catriona rose to her knees, her chest heaving, her lips glistening. "Then kneel for it, my lord. I'm not climbing mountains tonight."
The viscount's face flushed, but he knelt on the chaise, and Catriona crawled forward to take him. She was slower now. Her jaw ached, her throat burned, and a long strand of spit hung from her chin. But she did not stop. She took him deep, hands wrapped around the base, and he held her head steady while she worked him.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
She pulled off just long enough to speak. "A man with a cock in his hand and nothing better to do with it."
The crowd laughed. The viscount did not. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and shoved her back down, and this time he thrust, hard and fast, no rhythm, no mercy. Catriona closed her eyes and took it, her hands braced on his thighs, her throat opening for him again and again.
He spent in her mouth, flooding her cheeks, and she swallowed it all, then showed him her empty tongue. He pulled out, breathing hard, and the lean knight stepped forward to claim his turn.
"Enough," the marquess said from his chair.
The knight stopped. Catriona turned to look at the marquess, her lips swollen, her throat working.
"I claimed her for the evening," the marquess said, rising from his chair. "I'll decide when she's had enough."
The knight's face fell, but he stepped back. Catriona stayed on her knees, breathing raggedly, her breasts bare, her gown hanging loose at her shoulders.
The marquess approached her and tilted her chin up with one finger. "You've proven your point. Did you do it to spite me?"
"No, my lord," she said, her voice hoarse. "I did it because I enjoy it."
He studied her face. "And what do you want for the rest of the night?"
Catriona smiled, slow and wicked. "I want to be taken to your chamber and fucked until I can't walk. Then I want you to use my mouth again. And then I want to sleep in your bed so the other debutantes know exactly who I belong to."
The marquess laughed, a low, genuine sound. "Then come, little Scot. I'll grant all three."
He pulled her to her feet, wrapped an arm around her waist, and led her down from the dais. The crowd parted to let them pass, and Catriona heard the whispers start behind her, the speculation and envy rising like heat from a fire.
She walked with her head high, her bare breasts swaying with each step, and did not look back.