by Vanessa Vale
Spank. "There was no maidenhead."
"I know!"
"Explain." Spank.
This was the moment. I would share the truth of myself with him. "I took it. I took my own maidenhead." I tensed, waiting for the next strike, but it didn't come.
"You...you took your own maidenhead?" His voice was filled with incredulity, as if the very idea was unfathomable.
I nodded my head, but I doubted he noticed with my hair falling every which way.
"How?" he asked, his palm resting on my stinging flesh.
The idea of saying the words out loud had my cheeks burning, perhaps as red as my bottom. But there was no alternative. I was in a most awkward of positions and if I wanted my husband to know the truth, the words must spring forth. Or, he would continue with the spanking. I had no doubt he had more patience than I with the endeavor.
"With...." I couldn't say it.
Spank. "With?" he prompted, and when I didn't reply right away, he spanked me again. And again.
I winced with each blow, although it was painful, he was not hurting me.
"With a wooden cock." I slumped down, put my forearms on the floor. There. I'd said the words I'd dreaded for a thousand miles. I'd be on the first coach back to Minneapolis for sure now.
My world spun, and I realized through my dizziness that Mr. Blake had righted me and pushed me down onto the bed. My bottom stung; even the soft quilt felt rough to my tender skin. I gasped as I looked up into his dark eyes, wondering to his thoughts. I had no doubt he was good at Poker, for I could not read any emotion on his face. His gaze roamed over my face, then lower over my body, as if he could ascertain the truth of my words there.
He nudged his chin up. "Grab hold of the bars and don't let go."
Looking up over my head, I took in the curved bars of the brass headboard. Reaching up, I gripped the cool metal. For that, I received a thin smile from Mr. Blake. Why did he request this? Would he tie me to the rails as I'd heard about?
"I will be back directly. Don't let go."
I stared at the empty doorway openmouthed. He just wanted me to hold the bar? Why? And for how long? I felt his seed seep out of me, my flesh between my thighs hot and pulsing, no doubt swollen from Mr. Blake's very large...cock. My bottom throbbed, stung from his palm. A minute later he returned, holding something in his hand, but he didn't give me the opportunity to see it. I was curious, vastly so, but I knew if he wanted to share it's identity with me, he would have. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he said, "You may bring your hands down."
I did not realize how tightly I'd gripped the cool bars. "Why...why did you have me hold that?" I asked, returning my hands to my sides, moving my damp palms over the quilt.
Shifting, he turned his body, bringing one knee up on the bed so he faced me. He was as naked as I, but he had no discomfort to his state, seemed comfortable in it. Taking one of my calves in hand, he opened my legs wide as he answered. I tried to pull from his hold, but he offered no give. "Because you would think about not letting go instead of running away."
It was disturbing how well he could read me after knowing me for only a few hours, while I, on the other hand, could not even guess his thoughts, let alone his emotions. Grudgingly, I had to admit he'd been correct in his assumption. The duration he was from the room, I worried about letting go and being spanked again, whether I should adjust my grip even though my palms had become sweaty. My mind had been solely focused on what my hands were doing, what he'd do to me when he returned, not allowing time to ponder anything else.
Lighting the lamp on the bedside table, the room brightened and the shadows chased away, the hue of Mr. Blake's skin turning to a burnished gold. His gaze dipped to the swollen flesh between my legs, now exposed to the cool air and the soft light.
He held aloft what he'd gone to retrieve. "Was it something like this?"
My eyes widened at the sight. I could feel my cheeks heat, yet at the same time, my body softened at the thought of how good I'd felt when it had filled me. "Where did you get - ? How?" I sputtered.
"I have quite a collection of items to use on my bride. But I think those are the questions - the where and how - I should be asking you. Here." He held the wooden phallus out to me to take. Waiting patiently, his eyes pinned mine and his grip was strong on my leg. I wanted to squirm, to get away, but he would not have it. Reaching out, I took the object from him. It was bigger than the one I'd used in Minneapolis. Shifting up onto an elbow, I could glimpse Mr. Blake's cock and see, even semi-erect, that the man was larger.
"Share your story, Emily. You have my complete attention." His voice wasn't as stern as it had been minutes ago, the tense lines of his muscles gone.
I closed my eyes briefly, blocking out Mr. Blake's formidable presence as I collected my thoughts. Sitting there, naked as he was, he had me most distracted. I couldn't just begin my tale with stealing the object from a box. It would not only make me a whore, but a thieving one.I glanced down at the carved wood I held, cool and hard in my palm, and shared my secrets. Once told, he'd know everything and would most certainly get rid of me.
"I...I grew up poor,” I began. “Very poor, with six brothers and sisters. I was the oldest. My father...well, he wasn't a nice man." After all this time, his face was becoming blurry, his features dulled in my memory by time, but his actions, his words were unforgettable. "When I was thirteen, things had become so dire that he...." I glanced up at Mr. Blake who listened intently. "He sold me to one of the town's brothels." Mr. Blake's jaw clenched at my words, but he remained quiet.
"It turned out, my aunt, whom I did not know existed until that time, was the owner. She had left the life of poverty to a life on her back. My father, who'd banned her from the family for her profession, found her useful when it suited his purposes. She had been very successful in her chosen path in life. Aunt Trina was kind to me, at least kinder than my father as that was my sole comparison. She didn't turn me away, and of course she didn't make me do tricks."
I heard a small growl escape Mr. Blake's throat.
"She hired a tutor for me and some of the other girls and I was certainly more educated than if I remained with my family. I even learned French, although languages were not my strong suit. I was definitely more worldly."
I paused, letting the extent of my words settle.
"Go on," he prompted. Again that well of patience. It seemed the only time he let that slip was when he was buried deep within me. I’d only known him a short time however, so I could be wrong in that assessment, although I doubted it.
"It was Aunt Trina who contacted Miss Bidwell. Although they owned rivaling brothels, they were friends. Aunt Trina always said that women were wiser than men and needed to help each other." I paused at remembering her words. "I knew nothing of their plans until Miss Bidwell paid us a call and said she'd found a match for me. At first, I thought they were going to sell me - sell my virginity - to the highest bidder, which had me petrified as my maidenhead was, by then, gone. They didn't know that important fact, though, and I was not going to tell them. I had no question they would believe me, but Aunt Trina had done so much for me, I could not repay her years of kindness with this kind of treachery."
I took a cleansing breath and plowed on.
"They'd found me a husband and I knew I'd been given a reprieve from the truth being discovered. Since the man - you--were halfway across a continent, I felt certain you would not be capable of returning me. Now...."
I paused here as I knew he could do just that. Return me. Put me on a stage and ship me back to Aunt Trina's brothel.
"By this time, matters had been put into motion and I was heading West within the week. During the journey I considered the possibility Aunt Trina just wanted rid of me just like my father, but I had ample time to think and came to the conclusion that she wanted a better life for me than what I would attain in Minneapolis. No man would marry a girl from a brothel, virgin or not."
When Mr. Blake arched one dark brow
, I moaned, realizing I'd painted him as a patsy. "Oh dear. I didn't mean the words the way I said. I was untouched by the day-to-day life of the brothel, and yet I am tainted by it."
"Completely untouched? You said yourself you took your own maidenhead with a dildo." Mr. Blake's tone sounded bitter.
It was time I shared the rest. There was nothing left. My emotions were as naked and exposed as my body.
"It's because...because I'm a whore." I pursed my lips and looked away, glanced out the window. I couldn't stand to see the look of disgust on my new husband's face.
"A whore?" he questioned. When I didn't turn to look at him, didn't respond, he gave my leg a gentle squeeze. "Emily, why are you a whore?"
"Because although I never saw it, I heard about what the girls did with the men and it made me...warm. My pussy tingled and I wanted to know what it felt like to have a cock in me."
Mr. Blake's eyes widened in surprise.
"See? I even talk like one, living amongst them as I did and learning the words. I can say pussy and dildo without even the lightest of flushes. The tools of the trade were delivered to the kitchen door once a week and one day last year I snuck in and took a dildo and used it."
"Did fucking a dildo make you come?"
I arched a brow at his question. "The first time, it hurt." I cringed at the memory of the searing pain inside. "It hurt so much that I thought I'd broken something, that I'd injured myself most grievously. I couldn't tell anyone, so I bore the secret of my wrongdoing alone. The dildo remained in the bottom of my drawer for a month before I dared use it again."
He looked amused, the corner of his mouth ticked up. "So you did avail yourself of it more than once. Did you make yourself come?" He repeated the question.
My cheeks heated and my gaze darted away before I met it straight on. "Yes." I threw my hand over my eyes. "See, I am a whore."
Now he will send me away. I pushed up further, onto my hand and then sat up all the way, tugging my leg away and moving to climb off the far side of the bed. If I was to be gone, I wanted to keep my pride.
"Where are you going?"
I glanced over my shoulder at Mr. Blake as I tucked my hair behind my ear. The long tresses tickled my bare back. "To town to await the next stage heading east."
He frowned. "Why?"
I just stared at him, incredulous. "Why?" I held up the dildo, a similar model the culprit in all my woes, then dropped it on the bed. "Because I'm a whore and no husband wants a whore for a wife."
"Part of your statement is true," he countered. He remained on the side of the bed, unmoving.
It was my turn to frown.
"Living with whores doesn't make you one, Emily."
"But I talk like one and I...I loved what you did to me, even when you were rough."
Mr. Blake grinned lasciviously and his cock pulsed to life.
"That is good to hear because I want a wife who will only be a whore for me and me alone."
"That makes no sense." His words were ridiculous and I moved to stand beside the bed. "I'm...I'm surprised you believe me."
He frowned momentarily, and then held up a piece of paper I hadn't noticed before. It was the letter from Mrs. Bidwell. "I do believe you." He tilted his head so he focused directly on me. "I did believe you when you explained. But Mrs. Bidwell only confirms your words."
My eyebrows went up in a flash. "She knew?"
The letter was held out for me to take. I unfolded it and read.
Dear Mr. Blake,
I hope this letter finds you pleased with your new bride; I hand picked Emily Winston just for you. When a fellow brothel owner was searching for a safe, secure match for her niece, you came to mind immediately. I have no doubt you will soon discover her character is as wild as her hair - innocence combined with a voracious curiosity brought about by living among whores - will meet your every expectation in bed, and out. Please take this upbringing into account when training your new wife.
In friendship,
Mrs. Bidwell
"She surmised you were not as sheltered as they had hoped," Mr. Blake said, when I placed the letter on the quilt. "They knew you to be curious and suspected that you took things into your own hands. Literally. Perhaps they had similar thoughts as you, that I would send you back."
She fiddled with an edge of the paper, not meeting my gaze. "You...you like that I have the character of a whore?"
"Like I said, Emily, only for me. Besides, you aren't a whore." He stressed the last heavily. "A whore offers herself to men, which you have not, nor will ever, do. You're passionate and responsive. There's nothing wrong with that when it's with me, for me. Because of me. I am your husband." The way he looked at me was dark and held such carnal promise that I had to look away, especially from his cock that now stood erect and curved up to his navel. The words he uttered next were a complete surprise. "Show me."
"Show you?"
He grabbed the dildo from the bed, held it aloft. "Show me what you discovered. Show me how you made yourself come."
CHAPTER FOUR
WYATT
The look on Emily's face was quite amusing. Shock mixed with arousal and she was speechless. It did not seem to be a normal state for her; I envisioned her an inquisitive chatterbox as a child. If she had indeed been raised in a brothel, and I had no reason to doubt the story's plausibility as Emily was not the lying type, then this Aunt Trina woman had been a saint. She'd saved Emily from a horrid, poverty stricken and cruel existence and once the girl was grown, found her the most suitable, and virtuous life she could have. A childhood in a brothel would certainly make it difficult to marry in the same town, but a mail order bride would change the dynamic substantially.
Mrs. Bidwell - I'd met her two years past with Ryder Graves when we'd travelled to Minneapolis to sell our beef cows - had been a business savvy and extremely wise woman. Paying her a hefty sum, we'd put the search for brides in her hands. It had taken time, and a large leap of faith on our part, to be matched with the perfect bride. She'd assured us she would meet every one of our requirements. Even after knowing Emily a few hours, it appeared she most certainly had, but neither Mrs. Bidwell or Aunt Trina had taken into account the eager curiosity of a certain young lady and what she'd done in the privacy of her own bedroom. Or, perhaps Aunt Trina had known, which made fulfilling the requirement for a lusty bride an easy task.
"Were you in bed when you did it?"
Emily flushed prettily with every blunt or crude question and this one specifically, had her forgetting she stood before me naked. Long brown hair curled and fell down her back, some slipping over her shoulder to wind about the milky white skin of her breasts. They were plush and full, and had been heavy in my palms, the nipples exquisitely responsive beneath my thumbs. Her skin was satin smooth, yet curvy and soft. Her pussy was glistening with my cum and her arousal.
"Yes," she replied, her voice just above a whisper.
"Get on the bed." I didn't offer it as a question. She might have caught me by the most startling of surprises when I'd fucked her, but I was the one with the control. It was time to take it back.
Slowly, she put one knee up, then the other, to move and sit in the center, her breasts swaying as she moved. Her nipples furled into tight peaks, whether from the coolness of the evening air or from arousal, I wasn't sure. I held out the dildo to her and after a moment, she took it from me.
"Were you lying down?"
She shook her head, a long tendril of hair brushing over her nipple. I was jealous of a wayward curl. "I was...I was propped up with my pillows."
"Show me."
Turning, she shifted to lean against the headboard, the pillows cushioning her back. When she paused, her legs tightly together, I tilted my chin, indicating for her to continue.
Slowly, she spread her legs and bent her knees so her pussy was exposed to my gaze. She was coated with my seed and I could see more seeping from her hole. With the dildo in her right hand, she reached down and parted her swo
llen folds with her left, her fingers quickly becoming slick. Then when ready, she moved the object into position and worked it up into her.
Her eyes flared wide in surprise as it slipped into her so easily, the slurping sounds of her pussy greedily taking the dildo filling the room.
"Tell me what you did."
Her eyes shifted to mine. "Out loud?"
I didn't respond to the rhetorical question, just watched as the dildo all but disappeared inside of her. My cock throbbed and pulsed, wanting to fill her instead. I would have my turn again soon enough.
"I...I pushed and pulled on it, just like some of the girls described a fucking. I didn't even know I had a maidenhead until I tore through it."
"You're not moving it in and out," I told her. Emily still didn't comply. "This isn't for you, wife. This is for me. You don't have to like it, but you must do it. Or, I can spank you again and then you can fuck yourself with the dildo. Which will it be?"
Her eyes widened at my order. At once, her hand began to move, adjusting the angle of her actions, the speed, the depth. Clearly she didn't wish to be spanked again. As the dildo shifted within her, her eyes slipped shut, lost in her own pleasure.
I watched her for a minute or two, the way my seed slipped from her around the wooden cock. The sounds of her pussy being stuffed full filled the air. Her hips shifted and she came up on the heels of her feet as she used the dildo for her pleasure.
"Did you rub your clit?"
She bit her lip and arched her back off the bed, but kept her eyes shut. "My...my what?"
The way her skin dampened, the way the flush crept down her neck and over her breasts - she was on the way toward coming. "That bundle of nerves in your pussy that makes you feel so good."
"I...I don't know to what you speak."
Interesting. Earlier, she'd orgasmed solely from my cock in her pussy. I hadn't touched her clit and neither had she.
"Did you play with your nipples?"
