by Sue Lyndon
We settle on a loveseat that overlooks the snow-covered landscape. I wrap an arm around Faith, and she leans on my shoulder.
“Tell me everything there is to know about you, Papa. Where you were born, all about your family, your work, every single little thing.”
“Little girls first,” I insist.
“But I’ve already told you all there is to know about me. That my mother died when I was six, and then my aunt and uncle kept me for only a few days before taking me to the orphanage. I lived there for fourteen years and then…”
“Fourteen years? That makes you twenty.” I’d believed her to be eighteen, as that is the age of most girls when they finally leave the orphanage. Knowing she’s a bit older than I originally thought comes as a relief. Most girls her age are married with two or three children by now.
“Oh, well, yes. I’m twenty. Almost twenty-one, in fact. When my aunt and uncle dropped me off, an older girl approached me and asked me my age. When I said six, she whispered that I ought to fib and say I’m younger, so that I’d be allowed to stay at the orphanage longer. My aunt and uncle didn’t stick around to answer any of Mrs. Hawthorne’s questions, just told her I was the child of a woman who’d died recently. They failed to admit they were my relatives. Anyway, so I lied about my age from the start, and that’s how I was able to live there for so long. However, I don’t feel I took advantage terribly, because I made myself as useful as possible over the years, cooking, cleaning, sewing, and helping to take care of the younger children as I became older.”
“I will admit the conditions inside the orphanage startled me today. Until this afternoon, I’d only stepped foot on the front porch when I delivered supplies. I’ve never gone inside before. The conditions…Faith, I will see what I can do to improve the orphanage. I know you must consider some of the girls your friends, and I would want to help them, taking your suggestions, of course.” The idea has been forming in my mind since the moment I saw Faith’s awful mattress constructed of rags. To my delight, she smiles and nods.
“Oh, Papa, that would be wonderful. Thank you. You are a good man.” She places a hand on my heart and leans in to deliver a quick kiss to my cheek. Despite myself, a flush overtakes my whole body. “Papa? Are you…blushing? Oh, you are!” She giggles and kisses my other cheek, and when she leans in for another kiss, I turn and capture her lips with mine.
Our first kiss starts out gently, but the urgency soon builds, and I cup her face hard and hold her still while I take command and deepen the kiss, tasting her sweetness as she moans and whimpers against my mouth. Her responsiveness spurns me onward, until we’re both panting heavily when I finally pull away.
Both of us, breathless with longing.
Three o’clock can’t come soon enough.
“Since I just told you more about me, Papa, could you tell me more about you now?” She rests her head back on my shoulder, in a gesture so natural, it could have been the thousandth time she’s done it.
“Of course, little one. I’ll tell you anything you wish to know.”
I start with my family history, informing her that my grandfather was an original founder of Gerrardsville, back in the days when this part of the world was still utterly lawless in the aftermath of society’s collapse. I briefly tell her of my late parents, my sister, who moved to Marystown with her husband and children, and my late wife and son, who passed away five years
* * *
ago. When I speak of something sad in my past, she caresses and pats my arm, and I drink in her offered comfort like a man who was, until this moment, parched and dying of thirst.
The longer I talk to her, the more I feel as if I’m coming back to life. For years, I’d held the entire world at arm’s length. I’d loved my wife and son dearly, and rage consumed me after their untimely demise. Anger and heartache were my companions in the longest, darkest night I’ve ever known. And when I first helped Faith in the street and peered into her soulful blue eyes, that was the moment the sun peeked over the horizon, a brilliant dawn breaking through a pitch-black forest.
Her light has long past splintered through the thick, tall trees. It’s shining over the mountaintop and warming the once cold lands.
Chapter Eleven
Faith
* * *
We’re back in the sunroom, although dusk set hours ago and there’s an endless field of stars above us. The snowstorm moved quickly past town, and the skies cleared just long enough to allow a glimpse of sun before darkness blanketed the land.
I’m snuggled next to Papa on the loveseat, my heart beating faster as anticipation rises. My thoughts rest on our impending wedding night. Though he hasn’t indicated for certain whether or not we’re to share a bed tonight, I’m still hopeful, and I can’t stop imagining what it will be like to surrender to my new husband in the most intimate of ways.
“Our wedding was perfect,” I say, breaking the silence.
At three o’clock, we’d exchanged vows in the sitting room, in front of the Christmas tree. The butler and Mrs. Summers served as our witnesses, and afterward we enjoyed a romantic candlelit dinner—an early dinner since we’d talked straight through lunch earlier while getting to know one another better.
“Yes, little one, it was perfect.” He turns to me and strokes my hair, and when his fingertips graze my ears, a spasm of heat erupts in my womanly core. His hands move down, and he caresses the side of my neck.
Sensation dances across my skin and my breath hitches, the thump of my increasing pulse echoing in my head.
The full moon’s reflection on the snow-covered hills draws my eye, and I gaze into the beautiful night as the fire in the wood stove crackles in the stillness of the house. After dinner, the servants made themselves scarce, and it’s so quiet I think I can actually hear the beating of Papa’s heart.
I lean against his chest, seeking out the steady thumping of his life force.
“Faith?”
“Yes, Papa?” As I await his response, I marvel that calling him Papa feels completely natural, and not forced in the slightest.
“It’s time for bed.”
His declaration holds a weight of meaning that prompts the air in my lungs to freeze. I can’t exhale, and I can’t speak. I can only stare at him and hope that he means what I think he means.
That we’re going to bed together. That Papa will make me his in every possible way, and then at the end of our thirty-day trial he’ll declare that he cannot live or breathe without me. Oh, please God please.
“Faith, it is up to you where you rest your head tonight. Your bedroom, or mine. Please know that no matter which you choose, I will not be upset with you in the least. Even if you never wish to officially consummate our marriage, I will not get rid of you.”
Surely, he must not mean that last part. If we reached the end of our trial and I hadn’t yet shared the intimacies with him that married couples share, then he would not wish to keep me around. But even if that were the case, I would still ache to belong to him in truth, as a wife does when her husband claims her for the very first time.
I might be innocent in many ways, but I know the ways of the marriage bed, for one of the workers at the orphanage once told the older girls what to expect when we get married, or when we go off to work at Madame Angelic’s. I’d been shocked at the time, surprised by the idea of a man’s huge hard appendage pounding into my cunny, but with Papa I don’t feel quite so nervous about the prospect of spreading my legs and allowing him to take his pleasure of me. Besides, I suspect I’ll find much enjoyment in the act, as well.
I’m aching for it. Pulsing hot and urgent between my thighs.
“Papa, I want to sleep with you tonight.”
“Are you certain, my little one?”
I nod so hard my hair flips about my shoulders. “Yes, absolutely certain. I-I’m craving it. Craving you. I want to be close to you, and I want to belong to you.” I hope I don’t sound silly, but I speak the words that pop into my mind in this mom
ent. All of me wants him, and if he sends me to sleep alone in my own bedroom, my heart will break a little. We’ve spent the loveliest day together, and I can’t possibly bear the loneliness of sleeping alone. Nor could I stand falling asleep without satiating the lustful needs unfurling with me, burning me up from the inside.
“Very well, Faith.” He rises and turns, helping me to my feet. He stares at me, his eyes wide and filled with awe, as if he’s seeing me for the first time. “God, you are so beautiful.”
He’s the beautiful one, I think, but I don’t dare say it aloud, for fear that I’ll sound ridiculous. I don’t have any practice in complimenting men, and I’m not sure what counts as a proper compliment. I suppose I could tell him he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on, but as I peer up at him, admiring all his masculine features, from his strong square jaw and his dark determined gaze, to the stubble covering the lower half of his face and his large regal nose, all rational thought ceases to exist.
One intense look from him, and my defenses break down. Whatever he asks of me tonight, I will submit and try my best to please him.
In one fast move, he sweeps me up in his arms, not once breaking eye contact.
I gasp and continue staring at him, the flutters in my stomach and all the heat gathering in my core intensifying under the feral gleam in his gaze.
There’s nothing gentle about his expression.
But I’m not afraid. If anything, I want the roughness his firm countenance promises, because it will be real, and I want all that passes between us to be as genuine as the sweetest oath spoken.
He carries me upstairs and directly into his large master bedroom. He lays me out on his bed and sits beside me, his hand inching up my thigh, to the top of my stocking. He peels it down and removes the first one. I’m not wearing any shoes, and he easily removes the other stocking, tossing it to the floor with its twin.
He leans over me, puts his lips to mine, and kisses me with an intensity that has me arching against him and reaching for his belt buckle. He playfully smacks my hand away and grabs my wrists, pulling my arms above my head, all the while not breaking the kiss. He tastes like wine and the chocolate dessert we enjoyed after dinner, and I can’t get enough as he thrusts his tongue deep and holds me in his complete control. Whenever I wiggle against him, he tightens his hold on my wrists and kisses me harder, and harder still.
Yes, I think Papa’s going to be very, very rough with me.
I can’t wait.
Kingston
* * *
My little bride is so fucking wet.
Her panties are tangled around her ankles, and I’m sliding one finger in and out of her exquisite tightness. She shudders against me with each drive, and her tiny gasps and whimpers are making me wild.
I withdraw from her center and stand her up beside the bed, the need to see her fully naked overwhelming. I gather her dress up and pull it over her head, leaving her in her underthings and her petticoats. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s breathing rapidly. The peaks of her hardened nipples show through her chemise, and I’m quick to drag that garment over her head next.
Bare from the waist up, she trembles and peers at me with wide eyes, but she doesn’t look frightened. A bit uncertain, perhaps, but she’s not afraid of what’s to come. Her trust is the most precious gift, and I stare at her with reverence as I remove her petticoats and urge her to step out of her panties.
“You’re all mine, Faith.”
I reach between her thighs and cup her cunny hard.
“Who owns this sweet little flower of yours?”
“You do, Papa. It’s yours.” She grabs one of my hands and squeezes. “I’m all yours.”
“Damn right you are.” I give her a slight push, forcing her back onto the bed.
Stepping away a few paces, I divest myself of all my clothing while she looks on, her cheeks blushing redder with each garment I remove. Now completely undressed, I fist my hard cock in my hand as I approach her. When I crawl atop her and settle my cock at her entrance, she parts her thighs, but I don’t thrust into her yet.
Instead, I kiss her again.
I kiss her until she’s moaning and trying desperately to entice my entrance into her cunny, with urgent lifts of her hips.
Pulling away, I give her one last kiss—this one quick and on her forehead—before I concentrate on gliding the tip of my hard length along her soaking wet slit. I watch in erotic fascination as my cock moves up and down through her smooth, pink glistening folds. Her cunny is swollen with need, and whenever the tip of my hardness grazes her clit, she jerks and arches her back.
Still keeping my cock teasing her slick pussy, I lean down to capture a nipple. I alternate licking the stiffened peak and drawing it between my teeth. A slight tug and she releases another whimper. I give her other nipple the same treatment, laving it and biting it.
Tender and then rough.
She falls apart, trembling, then tossing her head from side to side, as she once again tries to propel her cunny onto my cock. But I lift my hips in time, preventing her from seeking her pleasure just yet.
“Not yet, my little bride,” I say in a mock scolding tone. “Not yet.”
“Papa, please.” She wriggles and pushes at my chest.
“Patience, love, patience.” With that, I work my way down her body, kissing and worshipping my sweet bride. I run my tongue along her stomach, moving lower still, until I reach my destination—her pink, glistening cunny. Holding her thighs apart, I tease her with slow, feather light licks to the outer folds of her sex.
“Papa?” Her high-pitched tone reveals her surprise over what I’m preparing to do, but she doesn’t attempt to push me away. She’s such a good girl, waiting for her papa to feast on her little virgin flower. She quivers and then shrieks when my tongue dances over the slit of her sex. Moans erupt from deep within and she reaches for me, running her fingers through my hair as I part her swollen, intimate lips and move my attentions to her clit.
I exhale a long breath against her, and keep her spread wide for my ministrations, sliding two fingers into her sopping wet channel as my tongue zeroes in on her clit and circles the protrusion of flesh with precise movements.
“Oh, Papa.” She sighs and grips my locks harder.
Creating a steady rhythm of thrusting into her tightness, I increase the pressure of my attentions to her puffed-up clit. The room becomes suddenly darker, and I realize one of the sconces near the door must have burned out. I glance up to find the change in lighting has resulted in the nearest sconce casting a deep orange glow across her pale, gleaming flesh. Her eyes are shut, and she’s wearing an expression of pure bliss mingled with intense concentration.
My cock hardens further, knowing that my little girl is trying her best to come. I pump harder in her cunny, even adding a third finger, though I don’t shove too deep.
It’ll be my cock that finally tears through her maidenhead.
Returning to the sweetness between her thighs, I lap greedily at her clit, reveling in the throbbing of that pleasure button against my tongue.
When Faith finds her release, she undulates against my mouth, tightens her hands in my hair, and utters my name over and over like a breathless prayer.
“Papa. Oh, Papa. Papa…”
When the last wave of the ecstasy washing over her dissipates, she opens her eyes and fumbles in the covers that have become tangled around her legs, reaching for my hand. But I don’t want to merely hold hands. I want my little one in my arms, and I waste no time in gathering her close and cradling her against me.
Her rapid exhales tickle my chest, but gradually her breathing slows to normal, and she peers up at me with a dreamy smile. “I-I didn’t know, um, that was a-a thing. Um, you know, with your mouth on my cunny,” she says, whispering the last half of her statement with her eyes bugging wide, as if what we’ve just enjoyed together is the most scandalous of activities she could imagine.
Oh, and I still have so much t
o teach her.
The first time I tend to her bottom hole, I suppose she’ll be in for an even bigger shock.
But her innocence and honesty in this moment endears her to me, and tenderness for this charming little girl who’s tumbled into my life squeezes my chest so hard that the next few breaths come shallow and painful. I shift her further onto my lap, allowing my hard cock to press up on her behind cheeks, imagining once again breaching her most private entrance.
Be a good little girl while Papa shoves his cock into your bottom hole, Faith.
Well, she’s not ready for that yet. Not quite. Even if she was, it’s our wedding night and I prefer to consummate our marriage in the traditional way.
“I’m going to make you mine now, Faith. Do you understand what that means?”
She nods, her eyes flickering with need. She grinds herself on my cock, drawing a deep growl from me as I attempt to maintain some level of control. It’s been far too long since I’ve been with a woman, and the primal urge to bend her over the bed and shove into her from behind for a long, hard pounding burns through my senses. But I must be somewhat gentle. My young bride is a virgin, and I certainly won’t continue to hold her trust if I am too rough and harm her on our wedding night.
“Lay back and spread your legs.”
She obeys once I release her, and I settle myself atop her center and trail my cock through her moisture. She puts her hands at her sides and grabs the covers, staring at me with her lips slightly parted and her chest rising and falling in rapid succession.
I grasp her hips and aim my length at her entrance.
Then I inch forward.
Fuck, she’s tighter than I imagined, her insides gripping me like a vise. So fucking perfect.
Mine. All mine.
I pause when my cockhead reaches the barrier of her innocence, and I wait until she meets my gaze. Her cheeks are flushed, and her golden curls are spread out around her head in chaotic, but beautiful disarray.
