“Come back in forty-five minutes with the bag of clothes to change into, please,” Damien instructs him. “And not a minute sooner or I can’t promise we’ll be decent. Nor clean enough to sit in your carriage, for that matter. I am going to really dirty up my bride.”
The carriage driver nods and tries to keep his face neutral but I see him trying to hold back an amused smile. Then he drives off, the horse leading the way as if to escape before he has to watch what Damien’s about to do to me.
Now it really is just my new husband and me, alone on a deserted island— or at least part of a deserted island. Behind us there’s a backdrop of a rocky cliff and all around is turquoise water and white sand.
He kisses me while ripping off the top part of my dress. At the same time, he takes off his pants. He holds my head back by my hair as he kisses my neck and then my breasts.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he says, “and I want to claim you as my own.”
He bites my neck and my shoulders, and I shiver even though it’s very hot out.
He lowers me onto the ground in front of him.
I’m still wearing my dress and he gets behind me while holding its skirt up.
“I’m going to fuck my bride like I did when she was a virgin,” he says, kneeling down behind me and spanking my ass and then squeezing it.
“And I’m not going to wear a condom. Is my bride going to let me do that?”
“Yes, Boss,” I say, as the waves crash over my knees.
He pushes my thong over to the side.
“I’m going to spread open your ass and your pussy so I can do what I want with them.”
“Please, Boss.”
He puts a finger on my clit, which trembles under his touch. The waves beat against my breasts and my legs.
“And what are you going to say after I fuck you hard and fast?”
“More, Boss.”
“That’s right,” he says, as he enters me.
I’m flooded with memories of the first time we had sex— which was my first time ever— in his bedroom. How he made me feel so complete. And how he still does now, while he fills me all the way with his huge cock.
He shoves it deeper and further inside me, thrusting in and out of me as the water washes over us. My wedding dress is as wet and dirty as my body, which belongs to him completely.
“Oh my God,” I moan, as I lean back further into his cock, to take it all the way inside me while I come.
“Come on my cock,” he tells me, pulling my hair and spanking my ass.
“Yes, Boss,” I say, feeling the sensation of an orgasm begin to wash over me.
“I’m your husband now,” he says, spanking me again. “Call me Husband.”
“Yes, Husband,” I say, full of pleasure so strong it’s overwhelming.
“Let me fuck you whenever and where I want, for the rest of my life.”
“Please, Husband.”
I moan and whimper over the sound of the waves crashing into us as he thrusts himself inside me still. When I’m released from the grips of my powerful orgasm, he says, “Now what do you want from me? Now and always?”
I lean back and look into his eyes, knowing that even when I’m spent and exhausted and dirty, I’ll want him more and more.
“More, Husband.”
DAMIEN
Now that I’ve given my bride pleasure, it’s time to give her some pain. I rub some ocean water on her ass hole and then use my finger to push my way inside it. I move my finger around inside her perfect ass hole, getting it ready.
“Are you going to let your husband fuck you in your ass?” he asks.
“Yes, Husband.”
I still love the way she submits to me. And I love even more the fact that she will do that for life.
I push my cock into her ass hole and she cries out into the wind and the waves.
“Don’t protest,” I tell her, slapping her ass.
“Yes, Husband.”
I thrust my cock in and out of her ass, pounding it like the waves are pounding us. I squeeze her ass cheek with one hand and hold her hip with my other hand.
I feel myself getting ready to throb inside her, harder than any of the rocks we’re fucking beside right now. But I don’t want to come in her ass. I have other plans.
“Turn around,” I tell her, pulling my cock out of her and helping her lie down on her sore ass in the sand.
I pull her wedding dress up so that I can see her perfect pussy even though the water is washing over it. I wash my cock off in the ocean water and then I plunge it into her eager pussy.
She’s as wet as the ocean now, and she’s arching her back and saying my name.
“Damien, that feels so good,” she calls out, as I play with her clit while I fuck her. “Oh, my boss. Oh, my husband. I’m going to come.”
I play with her nipple with my other hand. My cock bulges inside her, feeling the depths of her pussy and reminding me that there’s nothing coming between us.
I thrust in and out of her several more times as she begins to moan and come.
“I’m going to get you pregnant,” I tell her, as my cock pulses inside her. “You’re going to have my baby.”
“Yes, Boss,” she cries out, her body and her now-filthy wedding dress thrashing around in the waves. “Yes, Husband. I’m coming. I’m coming.”
“Tell me you want to have my baby,” I command, on the cusp of coming along with her.
I just want to hear her say that she wants the same thing I want. I won’t allow myself the sweet release until I hear her say it.
“Please, Boss,” she says, nearly screaming now. “Please, Husband. Please give me a baby.”
I shoot my load inside her, grunting with the force of it, hoping that it accomplishes our goal. I move her hair out of her face and look at it as we both come together.
I stay inside her, my cock pulsing and my arm strong around the shoulders.
Then I finally pull my cock out of her and watch some of my cum drip out, hoping that it’s not too much.
Soon the horse and carriage driver will be back to take us to our wedding reception, where we’ll continue the day’s festivities. I’ve accomplished my main goals— marry her, and begin trying to impregnate her, so now we deserve to relax and celebrate.
I look up at the beautiful colors of the sunset bursting across the sky and I’m reminded of why today is the best fucking day ever.
“And what will you say after we have the baby?” I ask, smiling down at my bride.
“More, Boss,” she answers, smiling back up at me. “Give me more, Husband.”
THE END.
Thank you for reading.
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Perfect Fit: A Modern Day Dirty Cinderella Fairy Tale with a Fake Royal Marriage Twist
Copyright © 2017 by Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved
Chapter 1 – Ella
Swish, swish, swish.
Slip, slop, slap.
Sluuuuurp.
Thud, thud, thud.
These are the sounds I hear as I approach my bedroom.
Sex sounds.
These are definitely, and disgustingly, the sounds of sex.
It’s like something straight out of a Showtime TV show or an Alexis Angel romance book. Except, unlike in both of those delicious forms of entertainment, I’m not the one enjoying the action that is causing these sounds.
Even though they’re coming from my bedroom.
In Showtime shows, it’s likely that the guy causing this ruckus is an asshole that we’re somehow supposed to root for anyway. But those damn romance novels are like fairy tales.
Setting up girls to believe that a former bad boy turned into our own personal Prince Charming will come rescue our asses— before spanking them until we’re writhing ar
ound on his lap begging him to make us come because our pussies are so dripping wet from how he’s exerting his dominance over us.
But real life is a lot more disappointing than that. At least, mine has definitely been so far. So, it doesn’t surprise me that someone is using my bedroom for a hot sex session that doesn’t include me.
My life has never been a fucking fairy tale.
That’s probably why I’ve always hated them.
As I get closer to my bedroom door, muffled voices mix in with the sounds that have already been drifting out since I was further away.
“Oh yeah! Give it to me. Yeah, ooooooh.”
Well, that sounds like one of my step sisters— Sheila, to be exact— which also isn’t surprising. She’s been known to fuck anything with half a brain or half a boner.
I’m not even sure if her standards are that high; that’s probably giving her too much credit. She’d fuck any guy that shows the least bit of interest in her, although she’d prefer him to be filthy rich and as boringly handsome as a plastic Ken doll.
The question is, though: why is she doing this in my room? The one part of this whole wretched house that is supposed to be mine and mine alone? She has her own bedroom she should be in.
After she moved in, she painted the walls pink and decorated with a lot of silver glitter. Apparently, she still has some princess obsession that she’s had since she was a tiny spoiled brat— now she’s just an older spoiled brat. Her bedroom, predictably, is much larger and nicer than mine, even though this was my house first.
But who knows what Sheila’s up to? I shouldn’t even ask such questions to myself because I know there’s no answer that would make sense to most people.
Sheila and my other step sister Gloria are always trying to find ways to make me miserable, because, other than banging random Ken dolls or spending all the money from my dad’s estate on overpriced clothes, they have nothing better to do.
I don’t know exactly what Sheila is doing. But I’m sure it’s some kind of ridiculous ploy to rub the fact that I’m a virgin in my face.
Chapter 2 – Ella
Yeah, it’s ridiculous.
I’m nineteen years old and still a virgin and still living with my mean step mom and two step sisters. It sounds pathetic, but I have my reasons.
When it comes to my living situation, it’s complicated, and too painful to think about as I’m listening to sex noises coming from my bedroom. But when it comes to my virginity, well— I just want to make sure the timing is right.
Losing my virginity feels like the one area of my life I can control, and I’m determined to make it feel magical and perfect. I guess maybe I really do still believe in fairy tales, at least a little, even though I’ve always despised them for being unrealistic.
I have a boyfriend named Paul and we’ve made out but we haven’t gone all the way. He’s wanted to, of course, but I just want to wait a little longer before we do it. Something just feels a little “off,” and therefore, doesn’t fit into my definition of the “absolutely perfect” circumstances that I want to exist before I do the Big Deed for my very first time.
Paul’s told me he understands and that he’ll be patient. I have a feeling, though, that he’s starting to become a tad bit impatient. Or maybe he’s just altogether tired of waiting. He sure hasn’t been around as much lately as he used to be.
That’s why I’m at home now— which is a place I usually avoid. I can’t go hang out with Paul because I don’t know where he is. He hasn’t exactly been anxious to see me, like he used to be, back when we first started dating.
That’s fine with me though. I could use a break from him anyway, because it’s annoying that he’s pressuring me for sex when he knows it doesn’t feel right to me yet.
But anyway. Back to the very pressing— and loud— matter at hand.
I’m sure it’s just Sheila and some random guy in my bedroom, and that she’s trying to rub certain facts in my face while she rubs her pussy around on said random guy’s cock and picks up an STD or two.
She’s probably looking forward to showing me with my very own eyes that although I’ve never had sex before, she has sex all the time and is actually having sex on my bed— or probably on my floor or my dresser or something, knowing her.
She’s undoubtedly doing it just to show me that she’s better than me, or at least she thinks she is. And that everything here is really hers, rather than mine. She wants me to know that just like her mom took my dad, she can take my formerly relatively happy life, and even take my spot when it comes to where I would naturally be having sex, if I were in fact having it.
I shouldn’t go in. Shouldn’t give Sheila the satisfaction of knowing I see her doing the thing that she clearly wants me to see her doing.
But by not giving her her way, I’d also be losing, since all I want to do is grab my Kindle that has the Ash Harlow romance book I’m currently reading bookmarked at a really good spot (Crave is my kind of romance book, since it’s definitely not all rainbows and unicorns and fairy tales— more like an addictive nightmare you don’t even want to try to get out of because it’s so damn fascinating), and head to the bathroom for a bubble bath and some me time.
Hey, I said I’d never had sex before— not that I’m some perfect angel. I certainly imagine all the perfect, outstanding, magical sex I’m going to have, when I have it. I just don’t act on those urges or fulfill those fantasies in real life.
Yet. Not until everything’s perfect.
I put my hand on the doorknob and decide it’s time to take control over my own life. Or at least my own bedroom, for a start. I’ll give Sheila a piece of my mind and tell her she can’t be giving a piece of her ass to every guy in the world right under my nose, or at least not right in my bedroom.
But as I open the door, prepared to roll my eyes and tell Sheila and Ken Manwhore Doll to get the hell out before I snap pictures of them and post them online— although Sheila would probably like that because she’d think it would make her the next Kim Kardashian or something— I see something I wasn’t expecting. Or make that someone I wasn’t expecting.
Sheila’s having sex on my bed of course, just as I’d expected. Typical evil Sheila. But I didn’t think her evil ways would extend to the point where it would be this person underneath her, currently gritting his teeth during an apparent near orgasm before he turns his shocked face to look at me.
I’m sure you’ve guessed it by now. Because my life is more predictable train wreck than surprise happy ending. Unless you’re talking about the happy ending that my step sister just gave my boyfriend, which certainly came as a surprise to me.
Yep. It’s Paul that Sheila is having sex with.
He’s underneath her, his hands around her ass, her tits still swinging, uninterrupted, in his face, as she continues riding him into the ecstasy that I have not yet let him experience with me. And which will never, ever happen now.
Just like that One Direction reunion tour I used to wait around for someone to announce. They’d been my favorites since early high school but since January 2016 they’ve claimed to be still together but on a “hiatus.” At some point, I realized I was waiting in vain for them to do another concert. Or maybe, I just grew up.
Life is full of disappointments, and on a bright note, at least I don’t have to wait around to see how this one turns out. I know right here and now what the future holds when it comes to Paul and me: a big fat nothing. And at least I didn’t let him pop my cherry before he let my step sister motorboat him.
Unfortunately, these small comforts barely make a dent in the huge range of emotions I’m feeling right now. Just what a girl has always wanted to do— walk in on her boyfriend and one of her three least favorite people in the world, getting it on like there’s no tomorrow.
I’m beginning to wish there really was no tomorrow, no today, no right this minute— so that I wouldn’t have to face this. But here I am, face to face it with none the less, all because I was d
rawn towards curiosity and my love of books and bubble baths to check out the noises coming from my bedroom.
They say curiosity killed the cat. But unlike some Disney Princess, I don’t have a friggin’ cat. I have me, myself, and I— and definitely not my boyfriend any more— and that’s exactly who is going to have to handle this, one way or another.
Chapter 3 – Ella
Speaking with having to deal with this, I wish I had time to think of a better way to do it. But in the heat of the moment, what I actually do is the first thing that comes to mind, which is to yell out Paul’s name, in case somehow it really isn’t him. Maybe it’s his doppleganger or something. Maybe Sheila found out he had a secret twin and brought him here to prank me instead of further ruin my life.
Yeah, right. When pigs fly.
“Paul?” I exclaim, loudly, vehemently, at the same time he says, “Ella?” in a confused near-whisper, the pussy.
The only good part about me catching them in the act— which was exactly what Sheila had intended, of course— happens right here: when it becomes clear that he’s caught off guard just as much as I am. Sheila was playing us both. That’s why she was flashing me a wicked grin as she continued fucking him when I first walked in.
But the best part of this comedic tragedy is that he starts buttoning his jeans, mid orgasm, which I do hope I interrupted, and says, “Oh shit, I got some on my Armanis!”
That’s when I know for sure how much of a douche my boyfriend— make that ex-boyfriend— is. Not just because he just fucked my step sister, and not just because it happened in my bedroom.
It’s not even because he didn’t wear a condom, since I figure he’ll be justly rewarded in a week or two when he breaks out into a rash and who knows what other symptoms he might have caught from whatever my step sister is bound to have. But he’s the world’s biggest douche because he cares more about his Armani jeans than he cares about any of the stuff listed above.
These revelations mix with my continued surprise of finding him here. Humor has always been my immediate defense but of course I’m also upset underneath the comedy I use to mask tragedy. And mostly, I’m still in shock, I suppose.
It’s like one part of my brain is surprised, while the other really isn’t. I knew there was some reason I was holding back from going all the way with him, and now I’m just so glad I didn’t. I’m so ecstatic that I saw his true colors before it was too late, and that bridge was crossed— or, uh, broken and unable to be repaired— that part of me wants to thank Sheila, even though the other part wants to hit both of them, while simultaneously breaking out into a big crying, blubbering mess.
Loved by the LumberJacks_A MFMMMM Reverse Harem Romance Page 72
