A Bit Of Ecumenical Butter
Saturday, January 31st, 2026 -- by Bacchus
He’s a good Christian and a Scottish laird. She’s a pagan, a healer woman, perhaps a bit of a witch. They are utterly besotted with one another. And in The Laird’s Midnight Dancer by Ashe Barker, a bit of butter eases things between them. Yes, precisely the things you imagine:
In moments he had a decent blaze going. Still naked, he crouched on his haunches, his hands outstretched to the fire.
“A fine sight ye are, laird, for a lass tae wake tae.”
He turned. Flora was awake and propped on one elbow, watching him. He slanted her a grin before setting the iron pot half full of clear water on the hook dangling over the fire. Soon, there would be warmed water for them to wash in, and a little later, boiled water for the beverage concocted from leaves that he knew she was so fond of.
“I did not mean to wake you,” he said, crawling back into the bed beside her.
“But since ye did, and as it will be a wee while afore the water heats, t’would be only good manners tae warm me another way.” She twined her arms about his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. “I want your cock,” she murmured, “inside me.”
“Did you not get enough to sate you last night? We were awake till almost dawn.”
“I confess, I am a wee bit sore, but still, I want ye.”
“Then, my insatiable wench, I have something else in mind for you. Do you have any butter?”
She furrowed her brow. “A little, I think. In a crock outside the door, keepin’ cool. Are ye fancyin’ a spot o’ breakfast, laird?”
“Later, perhaps.” He rolled from the pallet and strode to the door. He unbarred it and stepped out into the crisp, bright morning, to return a moment later with the crock under his arm.
“I hope none o’ my neighbours saw ye, paradin’ about as naked as a newborn babe, outside my cottage first thing in the mornin’.” She managed to inject an indignant note into her words.
He grinned at her. “You have no neighbours, Flora.” He set the crock down beside the pallet and lifted the lid. “Ah, yes, this will be fine. So now, if you will be so good, I’ll be obliged if you will get on your hands and knees, your pretty wee arse towards me.”
One red eyebrow shot up. “Beggin’ yer pardon, laird. Have ye gone daft?”
“I shall let you be the judge of that shortly. Do as I say.”
Still obviously perplexed, she emerged from under the blanket and the plaid and positioned herself as he had instructed. She twisted her neck to peer back over her shoulder at him. “If ye’re thinkin’ tae spank me so early in the mornin’, I shall be wantin’ tae ken the reason why, laird.”
He simply quirked his lip at her and used his fingers to part the lush globes of her backside. “Such a beautiful arse, sweetheart. I have been meaning to sink my cock into it for some while now, and this seems a decent enough opportunity.”
“Sink your…” She spun around to face him. “Did you say… sink your cock intae my arse?”
“Aye, I did. Nothing wrong with your hearing, Flora, though you clearly find it hard to do as you are told.” He raised one finger and swivelled it to indicate she should resume her previous position.
“My arse?” she repeated, her features a mask of astonishment.
“Aye. A knob of this butter will ease the way quite nicely.” He produced his dagger from beneath the pallet then scooped a generous portion of butter from the crock with his fingers. He carefully transferred it onto the flat of his dagger’s blade, then replaced the lid on the crock. “Hands and knees, sweetheart.”
“But you cannae. It… It…”
“I can. We can. And we will.” He tilted his head, then reached out to cup her chin with his ungreased hand. “I know you are scared, but I shall be very gentle with you, lass, and I shall do you no harm, I promise.”
Her moss-green eyes flashed, as he had known they would. “I am no’ scared. Why would ye think that?”
“Because this is new to you, and you are afraid I may hurt you.”
“I am not,” came the fierce, vehement reply. “I am not scared o’ ye.”
“Good, as you have no need to be. Now, will you do as I have asked and let me smear this butter where it needs to go?”
“You…you mean…in my…?”
“In your arse. Yes.” He waited.
And waited.
And…she slowly turned her arse towards him.
“Good girl,” he murmured and reached for her rounded buttocks once more.
Her rear hole was a tight, neat little ring of muscle. He started by smearing a layer of butter over and around it, before placing the tip of his middle finger right in the centre of the pucker and pressing gently.
“Relax if you can and let me inside.”
“I’m no’ sure if I can.”
He pressed harder, and his finger sank inside her, up to the first knuckle. He took a moment or two to wiggle it, mainly to accustom her to the sensation of being explored so intimately, then he withdrew and applied a fresh coating of butter. He drove it back inside her, deeper this time, twisting it one way, then the other to ensure she received an even coating of butter inside her snug channel.
“Two fingers now,” he told her as he lathered butter on his hand again. “It will feel tighter, stretch a bit, but we can stop if it hurts you.”
“Just do it, laird,” she ground out.
So, he did. First two fingers, then a third, all the time gently easing her opening wider. “Does this feel good, Flora?” he enquired mildly when she squirmed under his ministrations.
“It feels bloody weird,” she muttered.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No, not…not really,” she lied.
“And this?” He used his free hand to reach for her clitty and found the nubbin already engorged and slick. “Does this help at all?”
“Sweet Frig…” she breathed, lifting her hips to afford him better access. “Oh, dear lord…”
He allowed himself a wry smile at her casual, unconscious blending of pagan and Christian beliefs and continued to drive his digits in and out of her rear hole whilst rolling her clit between the fingers of his other hand.
“I… I think I might…oh! Ooooh!”
Her orgasm was swift and powerful, sweeping away any remaining vestiges of resistance. Euan coaxed her though the climax, then, when her shudders subsided, he quickly withdrew his fingers and smeared the rest of the butter over his swollen cock.
He nestled the slick crown against her entrance. Flora started slightly but he met no resistance so he pressed forward to insert the head fully. Her tight ring of muscle stretched further to allow the penetration, but apart from a muffled grunt she offered no protest.
He waited a moment to afford her time to accept what was happening, then he inched cautiously forward. Deeper. Tighter. Her body clung to him, her arse slowly opening to allow him entry. All the while he continued to stroke her sensitive nubbin, gentling her, mixing pleasure with pain so she would not care where one ended and the next began.
After several long moments, his hips were snug against her buttocks, his cock fully seated. Flora was gasping, clawing at the blanket, her cheek resting on the straw mattress. Her eyes were closed, but he detected the hint of a smile on her delicate features.
“There. You have all of me, sweetheart. Now, I need you to kneel up.”
“I… I cannae…”
He reached for her shoulders and lifted her slowly until her back leaned on his chest, his cock firmly embedded in her arse. He arranged her legs so that they were draped on either side of his knees, her body spread wide for him.
“Stroke your clitty, darling,” he murmured.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Pleasure yourself, just as you like me to do.”
She frowned but reached for her nubbin and drew her fingers slowly back and forth.
“Is that good?”
“Aye,” she moaned. “So good…”
His hands were on her breasts, each nipple caught between his fingers and thumbs. He pulled, squeezed, pinched until she cried out in a heady mix of ecstasy and agony. As her arousal soared again, he shared every ripple of pleasure, every sensuous convulsion within her snug channel. This would not take long…
“By Woden…” she cried. “I cannae… Aaagh!”
Her climax this time was even more powerful. He would not have thought it possible, but there was no denying the sheer force, the intensity and violence of the tremors cascading through her taut body. The waves of delight caressed the full length of his buried cock, squeezing his own release from him.
“Sweet Christ,” he shouted., “Holy fuck!” The wet heat of his own seed bathed his erection, filling her and dribbling out to coat his balls and her buttocks.
The pair of them lurched forward to collapse onto the mattress. Euan could not recall ever adoring her more.
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