He grabs me by the waist and pulls me close. “Oh yes. I did. You’re the most innocent girl in town. And with your creamy skin and shiny hair and child-bearing hips, you make me hard every day. I knew if I didn’t make you my bride I’d end up going on a killing spree.”

  I part my lips to ask him why in the world he would go on a killing spree over little old me when I notice his jaw tick.

  He touches my hair, seeming to admire me for a brief moment.

  “Your hair looks perfect, just like an angel’s.”

  “Thank you, Daddy.” I am starting to melt, seeing this softer side of him. But then he turns again, his forehead creasing.

  “And now, it has come time for this devil to lay claim to his angel until she is begging for mercy.” He rips open my dress, tearing it to shreds as I gasp.

  My pert breasts are now on full display for him, the nipples crinkling hard in his presence.

  Daddy growls as he kneads my small mounds, then yanks the rest of my dress away, ripping it even more before it finally falls to the floor in a white heap of chiffon.

  “Your body is ripe for my ruination, baby.”

  My chest heaves as I pant, feeling like my blood is about to boil it is running so hot. Daddy takes off his suit jacket, then his button top. His chest is broad and covered in hair like a wild beast, a thick trail of it leading all the way down to his lower belly. I dig my nails into the outside flesh of my thighs, so aroused by the sight of him.

  “Are you getting wet for me?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” I nod, breathless as he steps out of his pants, forcing his manhood to spring forth, hard and winking clear fluid from the tip. A thick tuft of hair covers the top, and his testicles are the size of oranges.

  My goodness.

  Panic rises within me when I am confronted with his sheer size. I didn’t know men’s penises got so big when they grew hard. I only saw one once when one of the women I live with was orally servicing the local dairy farmer, barely catching a glimpse as I walked past them in her room one day. The door had been cracked, and I heard the soft moans. I peeked inside and saw it, and it did not look this big to me. Not even close.

  “Good thing you are getting wet. Because the first thing Daddy will do is taste his bride, make sure she has enough lubrication to accommodate all of him.”

  He slides his hands underneath my armpits and lifts me so high in the air, all I can do is toss my legs over his shoulders as his face burrows in my dripping slit.

  “Ohhhh …” I groan, watching him, feeling his rough facial hair scratching my skin as he places a few kisses along my inner thigh.

  He lifts his eyes up at me, and I am so aroused at his rugged masculinity. “Hold on if you need to, baby.”

  I grab ahold of his thick curly hair right as his tongue probes my slit. All the air escapes my lungs as he slathers my dripping cunny, using his tongue to slide deep inside of me, then coming out to flick my clitoris.

  I let out a long moan and begin to softly rock my hips. But my moans are nothing compared to the sounds that are coming up Daddy’s throat. He sounds like a pack of wolves feasting on their kill, sloppy as he licks and sucks, bites and kisses me.

  “Oh yes, Daddy. I … I think ….”

  He growls, urging me on. I have had many orgasms from rubbing myself on my mattress, sometimes a pillow and occasionally using my fingers. But nothing has ever come close to feeling this good.

  I keep my eyes on him as I rub my slit harder against his face, forcing him to growl even louder. He sucks my enlarged clitoris past his lips and I feel him rapidly flicking the bump of tissue. I orgasm, my body jerking uncontrollably and my thighs clamping over his face.

  “Fuck!” I cry out, shocked at my own outburst, but that just seems to fuel my husband’s need for me. He groans and walks to the wall, allowing me to lean against the cool wooden surface. Now that he doesn’t have to hold me, his hands are free to roam.

  And they do, right up to my breasts. He rolls my nipples between his fingers, pinching them in alternating torturous sequences as his head gently moves from side to side. My head rolls back and I huff over and over, feeling tingles of electricity shoot from my hard buds straight down between my legs.

  Daddy eats me with fervor, probing my virgin entrance with his tongue and bringing me to another climax that way. I roll my hips, squealing in delight as my body shakes and trembles.

  Once the wave passes, Daddy somehow flips me upside down, his big strong arms holding onto my waist as his cock bounces in front of my face. I feel his facial scruff rubbing against my mound, and his tongue once again slithering along my clit as I grip his thighs with my hands.

  “Suck my cock, baby. Don’t just stare at it,” he barks, getting impatient with the way I am holding back.

  But I don’t know how to suck something so big, so thick. Maybe I can at least suck the tip.

  I grip the base of his shaft, my fingers barely going halfway around his wide girth. He grunts and twitches in my hand, and I have to admit I like the way that feels.

  As he licks my swollen lips, I lick my own lips and press them over his crown, noticing the thick, salty fluid smearing along them, leaving a trail of sticky fluid.

  “Ah yeahhhh,” he groans, his breath hot on my wet pussy.

  He gives a small thrust, and I take him deeper past my lips. The blood is rushing to my head, but when I am able to open my mouth wide enough to take in his full head, I start to suck and find myself becoming more and more turned on by this uninhibited act of lust.

  Daddy groans, licking me faster and faster as I start to suck the bulbous crown of his cock. I bob my head slowly, feeling more thick salty fluid leak out. I move my hand to his ball sac, feeling it move along my fingers like something is alive inside of them. It makes my walls ache for him to fill me with his seed.

  I can tell his manhood is growing harder as I pump my fingers up and down his length, using some of my saliva to lubricate him, make it easier to stroke.

  When he growls again, his cock twitches several times, and I feel myself on the cusp of orgasm. I whimper as another cum takes hold of me, and at that precise moment, Daddy shoots a warm stream of fluid in my mouth.

  The vibrations of his growls reverberate against my swollen lips, and both of us are rubbing our sex organs in one another’s face as we release. Daddy’s manhood bounces up and down as I move my tongue over his slit, catching every pulse of earthy fluid as he tries to force himself deeper in my mouth. But he is too thick, too wide for me to get any further than the crown. With everything in me, I wish I could feel him rub the back of my throat.

  Daddy flips me back around, setting my feet on the ground and pressing his lips to mine. He kisses me hungrily, fisting my hair and groaning audibly.

  “Damn it, I need to fill you up with my seed unlike I have ever needed anything,” he grits out, picking me back up and sliding his penis partway inside my entrance.

  “Daddy!” I gasp, feeling him stretch me with his wide girth.

  “Hold on, baby. It’s going to hurt, but only for a second.”

  I whimper and hug him tightly, and his hands find my bottom, cupping my cheeks with a fierceness. He pushes himself further in, and I cry out.

  I expect him to back out a little, but instead, my cries of pain seem to turn him on, forcing his cock to twitch and go deeper.

  “Ow … Daddy…” I whisper.

  “Don’t you cry, baby. It’ll feel good in a minute.” He gives a good, firm push, sliding deep inside of my slick, tight tunnel and forcing the air from my lungs.

  A low guttural sound comes up his throat as I hug his neck tightly, feeling the burn slowly subside as he grinds in and out of me.

  I bury my face in his neck, feeling his pulse as he thrusts hard and deep. My nails press into the flesh of his broad shoulders, and after a few minutes, I notice it doesn’t hurt anymore.

  “Oooohhhh, Daddy…” I purr, feeling the thick part of his crown massage my walls, forcing them to grow tighter and tighter.

  “Ahhh, baby…” he grunts, holding my pelvis and slamming into me with force.

  I can feel my hard nipples rubbing his hairy chest, and the force with which he’s taking me pushing me to cum.

  “Cum on Daddy’s cock, angel. Let that pussy give me a good squeeze…” His voice is deeper than usual, throaty with need.

  I know he needs to release as badly as I do.

  So I wrap my legs around him tighter, and as he rams my body up and down his thick manhood, banging into the ceiling of my vagina, I release an orgasm, my walls unrelenting as they clench his shaft over and over.

  Daddy fists my hair and tugs my head back, exposing my neck to him. He bares his teeth and sinks them into my flesh, biting me so hard it feels as though it breaks the skin. I cry out once again, feeling him suck on my skin, like he’s trying to leave a mark.

  He then forces me to lean back, moving his lips to my small breasts and flicking the nipples with his tongue. He sucks them with force, still thrusting his cock in and out of me as I grind on his erection.

  “Mm, baby… you know you’re about to pull the seed right from my balls, don’t you?”

  “Uh-huh,” I huff, grinding harder against the violent ramming of his cock.

  He growls, then pushes my breasts together, sucking on my nipples with force, until they sting.

  I feel the stream of his cum hitting my walls as he roars, digging his incisors into the flesh of my breasts, moving around them and making sure I am fully marked, every square inch of my chest.

  He then carries me to his bed across the room and spreads my legs, holding my ankles wide and high in the air as he finishes erupting inside of me. I can feel his sac slapping against the flesh of my bottom, and it must take him five minutes to fully finish.

  And when he does, he collapses his body weight on top of me, groaning and grunting about how perfect I am, how perfect we are.

  He holds me to him, my back to his front, his hair rubbing against my flesh and making me feel warm and safe.

  I find it hard to believe this is the same man who, just this morning, I was afraid to go near. He obviously has a loving side.

  Or maybe he is too tired to be mean right now.

  “Baby, I think I made the right choice with you.”

  I smile and wrap his big hairy arm around my front. “I think you did, too, Daddy.”

  “But I’m not finished with that pussy. You’ll be sore and unable to walk.”

  He rolls me over and kisses me hard, groping every inch of my body with hunger.

  “I hope so,” I tell him, stroking his face as he looks at me.

  “I want to make sure you know who owns you. Understand me?” There is something in his eyes, something dangerous. I know not to cross him.

  “I understand, Daddy.”

  “Good. Because I will kill a man who ever tries to lay a hand on you without my permission.”

  I know he means business. But it is the last part of that sentence that strikes me as odd: without my permission.

  It almost sounds like he has plans to share me.

  But with whom.

  And better yet, why?

  Book 2

  Cold Daddy Duke

  It’s only been a month since Daddy Duke took me as his wife, and he is already showing signs of being bored with marriage. He hasn’t laid a hand on me in a week, and no amount of seducing him seems to work.

  When he announces he’s leaving town for the night, I fear the worst: he’s on his way to someone else, maybe that brothel everyone in town speaks about. So I take a wild chance and follow him. And what I discover, leaves me shocked and hurt.

  I stare sadly at Daddy as he sits across from me at the dinner table. I have made his favorite meal: a rare lamb roast with rosemary potatoes, dressing, and buttered French bread. Actually, it’s one of my favorite meals as well, but today everything tastes bleh.

  Because I don’t think Daddy loves me or wants me anymore.

  “I made you a custard pie, Daddy.”

  He grunts and rubs his head. “Thank you. But … I’ll have to pass it up this evening.”

  Pass up custard pie? This isn’t the Daddy Duke I’ve come to know over the past month. Or the Daddy Duke I somewhat knew before becoming his wife just thirty-two days ago.

  “Is something the matter, Daddy? Are you ill?”

  He growls softly, but it’s not the growl I am intimately familiar with. Daddy is irritated.

  “No, baby. I’m not ill. I have to leave town tonight. Got some private matters to take care of.”

  My heart beats all the way down into my stomach. “Private matters? What sort of private matters?”

  “That’s not for you to concern yourself with, Emma. Just … save me a piece of the custard pie, and I’ll have some tomorrow when I get back. Right now, I need to lock up the forge, and then I’m coming back to pack a few things.”

  He bolts upright from the table and storms off, leaving me all alone with the lamb. I hang my head and fight back the tears, wondering if this is what the rest of my life looks like. Is my future nothing more than silent dinners and terse interactions with my husband?

  The first three weeks we were married, he couldn’t keep his hands off of me. Then, pretty much overnight, he turned to ice, refusing to touch me, to kiss me, to even look at me like that.

  The last few days I’ve been forced to assert what little dominance I have, tempting him with walking around the house in nothing more than my britches and complaining about the heat. Last night, I reached out to him, stroking the inside of his thigh as I craved his manhood in my grip like nothing else.

  And what did he do? Rolled over and told me to go to sleep, as if irritated with me.

  And now, he’s leaving town for the night for some private matters? Just how private are we talking here?

  He must think I am boring. Arabella says he might like prostitutes better because they have more experience and they wear that bright red stuff on their lips and pretty shoes with heels and feather boas around their necks. They put on perfume to smell pretty and do their hair just so.

  Of course he would be drawn to that. What man wouldn’t? Especially compared to someone who is just a plain old, inexperienced nineteen-year-old like myself. But I think it’s a bit ironic that he might be sleeping with another woman, given how jealous he was at the thought of another man even trying to touch me. He made that clear on our wedding night.

  I must do something to please him before he leaves, so that he doesn’t have any urges. But what can I do if he has continuously turned me away for the last six days?

  I let out an audible sigh as I sit at the table, and the only plan I can formulate seems so simple that it has to work.

  Or fail miserably.

  I get up and go to our bedroom and remove my britches and petticoat so that the only thing I’m wearing is my thin house dress. I lift it up and crawl along the bed, kneeling as I wait for Daddy to come back home.

  When I hear the front door open, I get in position, lifting my dress all the way to my hips. I then get on my hands and knees and arch my back, blooming my bottom in the direction of the doorway to the bedroom. Lastly, I slide my hand between my legs and stroke several fingers between my folds so that by the time Daddy comes into the room, he will catch me masturbating. It’s the only way I have been able to get a release these last few days.

  I don’t particularly enjoy it—touching myself that is—because I’d much rather my husband take care of my needs for me. But for added effect, I start to moan, calling out his name to prove to him just how much I miss our bedroom time. I roll my hips a little faster as I hear his boots clomping down the hallway

  “Oooh yeah, Daddy … right there …. Dear god I’ve missed you doing this to me with your hands….”

  All is quiet for a moment, but he has to be right there. I groan a little louder and push a finger inside of my pussy, hearing the slick, squicky sounds as I go deep in my tight entrance.

  And then I hear him growl softly.

  I smile and release a whimper as my juices start to flow.

  “Emma, you stop that right now and pull your dress down. You know I don’t have time for this.”

  I spin around and give him a hurt look, and all I can see is his furrowed brow and those coal black eyes flickering in frustration.

  “Daddy … why?”

  He grunts that he doesn’t need to explain a damn thing to me, then starts tossing a few items of clothing on the bed, telling me to pack an overnight bag for him. Feeling like a tiny animal that’s been crushed under foot, I remove the leather satchel from the closet and pack the few things he needs, fighting the tears once again.

  When I’m finished, I stand by the bed as he approaches, and I look him square in the eyes, pleading for some sort of explanation. I feel sick inside.

  He looks my way, softens his face a bit, then gives me a quick peck on the cheek before walking away.

  “I will be back tomorrow morning,” he says, tossing a quick glance over his shoulder.

  “Safe travels, Daddy,” I manage to choke out.

  I watch him through the window as he gets in his friend Daniel’s wagon, and they head west towards the early autumn sunset.

  Missing him more and more, I walk outside and stare in his direction until he is nearly out of sight, telling myself it will all be okay, that he is probably just under stress from whatever these personal matters are. That he still adores me. And when he comes back home tomorrow morning, all will be right again.

  And then I make a face as I realize I’m not able to convince myself of such things.

  “Miss Emma? Are you all right?”

  I turn to find Pastor Healy looking down at me from his wagon. I hadn’t even heard him approach.

  “Hello, Pastor. I’m fine, just … worried, I suppose.”

  He glances at the front door of our home, then back at me. “Is something the matter with your husband?”

  “No, sir,” I answer, shaking my head. “Well, to be honest, I’m not quite sure…”

 

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