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Bought and Paid For

It was as if he was torn in two himself. She knew he wished not to lash out at her in a way that would send her into a mockery of sobs and pleads, yet...she could feel it, lingering beneath the surface, the fact that he yearned to push her to her very limits. To make her stretch further to his every demand, despite her bones growing brittle beneath the pressure. Abigail was his wife, and as such, it was her sole duty to give him what his heart desired, despite her own personal objections. She had no say in the matter, yet Richard insisted on making her feel good, as well. It was strange...even as it warmed her spirit.

The young woman remained quiet for a moment after he had finished speaking, and her eyes continued to be ever vigilant of his every move. He stroked her flesh, and the yielding surface rose in small goosebumps, tingles tickling her senses. "Richard," she urged gently then, reaching out to wrap tender fingers about his wrist. There, she pushed his hand across her hip, down betwixt her thighs and finally, she let his digits slip against the mixture of her blood and his semen. She didn't need to say a word more, as she pushed herself up to sit and lean over his body, where her lips finally met his own. There, she eased them against his own, her tongue coaxing across the petals of his mouth. It was obvious with her tentative, shy motions, that she had accepted her fate and was willing to embark on this dark, painful journey with him.

They were married, she was his, completely and utterly. He had also taken from her, the most precious thing she had to give, and so...her blood now coated his palms.

Pulling away, lashes lowered heavily and she whispered, "You've made a mess out of me..."
 
She held his attention unwaveringly as her lips parted to utter his name and her hand guided his own downward. Feeling the warmth of his cum and her blood on his fingertips, he grew semi-hard again, electrified by the sensation of her 'wound' and his 'lust' mixing and becoming one. When her mouth latched onto his, Richard returned it eagerly, a thrill soaring in his heart to find her so willing and passionate, rewarded and triumphant.

And relieved. He hadn't realized until that moment, feeling her tongue parting his lips and stroking his timidly, how much pressure had been weighing on him to earn her acceptance... and her approval. It would have been a grim marriage indeed if she'd chosen otherwise. As she leaned back finally, looking unchanged from the shy young woman who'd walked out of the carriage this afternoon, another burst of satisfaction filled him.

Lifting his hand, he looked at his fingers and palm, dripping with dark gore grown milky with other mixtures. Looking back at her, he laughed silently. "Well, we'll be messy together, then," and he spared one more glance at his hand, thoughtfully adding, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Breathing in deeply, he sat up and tugged his shirt off finally, tossing it over the edge of the bed where his trousers had been abandoned. His body was muscular and his shoulders broad, but his waist was slender as were his long legs. "I have a room set up for you across the hall," he said, laying back down and giving her a firm look. "You may go, if you like - it is your space. But I would prefer if you'd spend the night here. With me."
 
Her lips were tingling and she could still taste him upon her tongue, Abigail's eyes never once leaving his handsome face. If she could read him properly, she could have sworn he was...happy. Had he been relieved of pressure himself? She certainly hoped so, while despite the fact that their marriage had started on a very wavering, brutal foot, that to continue on towards a content life together, they would need to find common-ground. This woman, innocent to many wonders of the world, would quickly have her mind opened up to the sensitivity of pleasures and pains, until she was accustomed to whatever her husband yearned to deploy against her oblivious system. He had already taught her many, and while she was sitting their upon their bed, stained with the remnants of their first evening together, she couldn't bring herself to ignore her anticipation.

Dare she say...she was almost looking forward to having him once more inside of her.

The mere thought of it sent her cheeks flushing into a brilliant hue of crimson, while her thighs lightly pushed together and she dropped her gaze down towards her lap, noting that she would need to bathe before sleeping. Or, perhaps he wished for her to slumber in her own sticky secretions? She would listen to him, of course, and give him what he so desired...as his happiness, ultimately meant her own.

He was gorgeous, and the hardened lines of his muscular form sent her reeling in admiration, her heart fluttering inside of its cage of bone. Abigail fought her temptation of reaching out and stroking her palms across the plains of his chest and navel, both due to her own exhaustion and surely his as well. "Should I clean myself," she asked quietly, glancing down towards him from over her shoulder. The rippling curls of her auburn hair tickled the base of her spine, just above the soft crack of her bottom. At the sensation, she squirmed, sliding against the sheets and smearing about her lingering fluid. "Your sheets are already a mess because of me..."
 
A haughty smile crossed his lips and he raised one dark eyebrow after she spoke, looking down at what he could see of the bed beneath her. Gazing down at the flowering crimson upon the white linen, the color disappearing further beneath her, Richard got a proud look on his face.

"I believe I already answered that question," he said in a relaxed tone. "I want you to wear it. You can clean yourself in the morning." Smirking mischievously, he sat up again a little behind her, his muscled arms slithering around her curvy body to touch her belly and a breast. Kissing her shoulder and nuzzling her with his prickling facial hair, he breathed in deep of the smell of her hair. "Besides, it would be foolish for you to get clean and then get dirty again right after." Richard nibbled at her shoulder lightly and then laid down upon his back, pulling Abigail with him, lying side-by-side with her and kissing her tenderly, his hand delving into her hair.

Then he was kissing at her neck and collar bone, his hand moving back between her legs and stroking her swollen pussy lips again. He was tired and satiated, despite his dick growing semi-erect from the sight and feel of her blood. But he still had enough energy to want to play with her a bit more. Firmly grasping her hips, he rolled onto his back and pulled her to lay on top of him, adjusting her legs so that she sat up and straddled his thighs. His hands cradled her waist and his hardened dick stood in front of her pussy, the head almost nudging her belly button, and his dark eyes traced her curves lovingly.

"Pleasure yourself on me," he ordered softly. "I want you to come on me."
 
What? He wanted her to sleep throughout the entire night, coated in this...mess? Abigail flushed at the thought of it, her eyes widening in brief shock when his muscled arms suddenly wrapped themselves about her slender waist. His touch sent her skin reacting in light, teasing prickles, her lashes fluttering whilst she listened to his guttural tone roll off of his tongue with ease. She was to grow dirty again, yes? The young woman's heart fluttered with excitement and she quickly leaned back into him, as he urged her to lay against the yielding mattress below with him. Though she was visibly tired and horribly soiled, she didn't dare pull away from his kisses, but rather, she pushed into them, returning each caress of the lips. If this man could manage to coax her to be this affectionate, after having been thoroughly used to his desire just moments ago...

Then surely, he had made the correct choice in a wife.

Abigail was far too distracted by his fingers stroking along the puffy, reddened lips of her sex, to realize that her husband was just as aroused as she was. He had her whimpering yet again and soon enough, she was straddling his hips, gasping out whilst her thighs were parted and she dripped across his erection, coating the hanging weight below. "R-Richard," she murmured, gazing down towards him in disbelief.

Was he joking? She looked at his member, which stood tall and proud, nudging up against her stomach. To please herself...and release on top of him, it seemed horribly taboo, despite the fact that she had been recently tied, gagged and blindfolded to their bed. Abigail, ever one to serve those she had to, wasted not a moment to hesitantly wrap her hand about his member, feeling it pulse beneath her palm. Intrigued, she leaned up onto her knees, and slowly eased the thick head of his endowment across her quivering slit, ultimately teasing at the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves found at the apex of her womanhood. A cry of joy, and she continued, until she was settled firmly against the underside of him and rocking her hips back and forth, her ride certainly slippery. The friction between the both of their sexes was growing to be unbearable and the pleasure that riddled her face was immaculate. There was something about the way this timid, fragile young thing was quickly mounting into a feverish, insatiable woman that was horribly intriguing. He was changing her...

Her neck arched and she cried out then, the sound raw and hot. "Nnngh...Richard..."
 
Goodness, she was beautiful. Laying back on the bed, relaxing and letting her play and ride as she pleased, he couldn't shake the look of pleasured awe on his face. And the friction was delightful, her pussy lips spreading over his cock as she slid up and down the length of it, putting delicious pressure on it with her body. Precum leaked liberally from the tip, mixing with her own juices of arousal and he delighted in the euphoric expressions that rippled across her features and reddened her cheeks.

He was so close, the dark head of his cock nudging against her clit and stimulated with rushing waves of heat pouring through his groin and pelvis. Richard was panting again, just tickling at the edge of his breaking point and ready for release. He was going to come! Then Abigail's soft voice moaned his name, like a woman who'd lost control of her mouth and body, going rigid above him and rubbing at his dick. The contortion of her face and the sound of her voice - not exactly like pain, but almost distressed - got him to explode with a growl, thin spurts of milky fluid shooting forth to decorate his stomach and her thighs. It wasn't as large a quantity as before, more a soft dribbling compared to the gushing he'd emptied inside of her moments earlier, but he was satisfied all the same.

"That was a beautiful performance, my love," he finally said once he'd caught his breath, practically purring the words and watching her with a wicked glint in his eyes. "Such a wanton and dirty young woman you've turned out to be." His voice was smooth and playful, but also tired and full of exhaustion now, his fingers gently and lazily stroking her body. "Thank you. It is late and I should get to sleep to be ready for work in the morning. And I know it is uncomfortable for you, but it would please me," he glanced down at the thin droplets of semen on her right leg and the longer streaks of it on his abdomen. "If you would just wear my seed for the night." Marking her in a subtle way as his, owning her body with his genetic stamp sticking to her and the smell of her blood and sweat staining him as well.
 
Marveling at the fact that she was being practically urged, and controlled by these foreign, erotic tendencies, she didn't stop until they had both practically oozed to their finishes. Abigail was ashamed, her eyes wide with horror. What had she just done?! Here was a woman, who had never felt the touch of another until this day, and now, she was all too eager to straddle her husband's hips and have her filthy, utter way with him. She could only shiver and quake in defeat, feeling her heart thump along the confines of her rib-cage in excitement, her breathing trying to find a comfortable rhythm. It was having a bit of trouble...

And just as those drinking pools of emerald dipped down to gaze towards the puddle of secretion nestled warmly between their frames, his voice rang out in her ears and she gasped, giving his shoulder a soft push. "Richard," she exclaimed, embarrassed, "Don't...don't say such things." But it was true, wasn't it? She had been twisted up into a wanton, dirty young thing...and as she was well-aware of her mounting needs that scared her beyond belief, she hadn't the courage to stop herself. Rather, she was prone to accepting them. To greet these sinful occurrences with opened arms and a welcoming, lovely smile. Abigail yearned to have him teach her things that would surely cause an uproar, if discovered. She wanted the walls of their bedroom to hold ghastly secrets of pain, pleasure and absolute catastrophe. Goodness, what was wrong with her?!

She bit into her bottom lip, trying to snap herself away from her plaguing thoughts. It worked, and she found the strength to slide off of his body and curl up at his side, an arm and leg strewn haphazardly across his chest and thigh. "How long will you be gone," she asked in a whisper, her tepid breath gusting out onto the rippling expanse of muscled side. Abigail nuzzled into him much like a child would, closing her eyes and refusing to detach herself. "Mmph...must you work the day after we've consummated our marriage? You deserve a small vacation," she quipped, fingertips teasing the hairs upon his forearm. "I don't want you to go..."
 
It was so very tempting, the sound of her voice practically pouting as she begged him to take the day off tomorrow, her body draped across his own with a familiarity it had only taken a couple of ours to formulate within her. But then he considered his clientele - at least one of them which was too important to reschedule the appointment of. As much as it pleased him, the thought of staying home and playing with her all day, until she went to bed sore and satiated, he knew he couldn't. Work was important to him, practically his life before he'd met her, and he had not anticipated things going so well - or for her to touch him and speak to him as she was now.

"Somebody sounds eager for more lessons," he responded with a small smirk and looking down at her. "I wish I could. At least in the morning, I need to go. I need to help a factory owner who's just started out to balance his books - he's the son of one of the wealthiest men in town, who I also work for, so I'm expected to be there." It was more that Richard didn't want to appear weak or unprofessional; he was certain if he'd used the excuse of his marriage, he would have been able to set aside all of his financial appointments without anyone getting offended. But they'd all probably be winking and nudging each other about it as well.

"But I'll take the rest of the day and come home early," he said, making it clear with his smile and stroking her face with his fingertip, that he'd changed his mind for her. It wasn't like Richard to give in so easily, especially when it came to work. But having a woman ready and waiting at home... how was a genteel man like himself supposed to resist? Then he kissed her on the lips gently, knowing that this would be the last contact they would share before she woke up alone in the morning.
 
Abigail knew very well, the responsibilities of working. Though her family hadn't the prestige or wealth to showcase their daunting careers, they had worked nearly every day of their lives, ever since she could remember. Her father was a great man in her eyes, and always would be. Though she still felt bitter towards the fact that they were so eager to court her away, she understood why they did so. Richard was a man that could give her, and eventually their children, a life that she could have never imagined. There were steps one had to take in this day and age, to gift their offspring with the spoils that they had never the pleasure to obtain. Thus, when Abigail was given the chance to have her hand taken in marriage by someone who was of the upper-class, of course her father and mother agreed to it. Of course they wanted their child to see the splendors that the world could bring. Yet, were they even aware of what she had thus been going through? Surely if they did know, her mother would have fainted and her father would be in an uproar.

It was one thing to know that her form was now soiled, but to have such a precious gift be taken away in such a slanderous manner...

She hadn't minded, due to the fact that Richard had soothed her stinging pain with a gentle affection that was still gracing her. The way he looked at her made her happy, especially when he smiled with such a certain care, that she was surprised he felt this strongly about her, so soon. The young woman shook her head quickly then, trying to sway him away from his accusation of her wanting more...lessons. "No, not at all," she urged, feeling her face rupture up into a pool of crimson. "I...I just want to spend time with you. Given that...we did just get married and have experienced other things, isn't it only proper that you aren't taken away from me just yet," she countered, hoping she cleared up the air. The question was, though, did she want more lessons from him, or did she not? Her body was beginning to say yes...without her realizing it.

That thought was for another day, however, and for now, she simply kissed him back with the lingering word that Richard would return home early tomorrow for her. Abigail did look forward to spending more time with him, talking with him...figuring out what made him tick. Yet, she knew despite all of the innocent chatter, of course he would once more place her firmly into a situation that left her cornered, and unable to move. It was both horrifying, and exciting. The poor dear was twisted into a knot of confusion, yet, those overbearing worries quickly eased her away into a comfortable slumber that would only be disturbed by sunlight.
 
"So, how is the new bride taking to being married to such a rich man?" Martin Burroughs asked casually. "I'm still surprised that you married someone of such low status."

Martin Burroughs was young but looking younger still with his boyish features - short, mouse-brown hair that went down to just below his ears and was slicked back neatly. It was 9 in the morning and Richard sat in the man's study in his mansion, dressed in a dark jacket over a maroon and embroidered waistcoat, a darker purple - almost black - tie tucked in the front of it overtop of his white shirt. Also present in the study was Martin's father, Peter Burroughs, and Richard's friend and assistant, Vernon. Burroughs sr. was a large man but not overly so, with a fuzzy, well-trimmed beard on his jowls, peppered gray and black as the rest of his hair was. He was the richest man in the city and a high-ranking government official, with a place on the council of the royal family. His son Martin was taking over a textiles factory that had gone out of business, and Richard sat at the desk in the study going over the numbers to help them make sure things got started on the right foot.

"She does well," he said distractedly, before finally giving the younger man his attention and smiling a bit. "Beauty is found in every station of life - she fits in perfectly." For a moment, his mind drifted to Abigail, for the first time this morning allowing himself to think of her and last night. He smiled to himself softly as he returned to the records in front of him, only a glimmer of darker desires stirred deep within, before he became focused once more.

"You'll have to host a party sometime soon," Burroughs sr. said in his gruff deep voice. "So that we all can take a gander at this beauty you picked up from the streets."

Without looking up, Richard smirked and said, "If I host a party, you'll have to decide whether to bring your mistress or your wife along with you. If we have the party at your house, you can have both on either arm."

Peter almost choked on his brandy and gave Richard an astonished look. Out of the corner of his eye, Richard thought he saw Vernon hiding a grin. Looking up, Richard glanced at first the son and then the father as if he didn't realize what was so astonishing. Then said, mockingly serious, "Oh, I'm sorry. That was my not so subtle way of inviting myself over." Vernon did laugh then.

This was not new behavior from him having been familiar with the Burroughs family for several years now - he'd watched Martin grow up through his teens years to now adulthood. Burroughs sr. often had to put up with Graninger's odd humor and their friendship allowed him to get away with saying a lot that would have others shunned from society within the hour.

Peter shook his head with a tolerant quirk of his lips and said, "You're such a rogue, Graninger." Then he tipped his glass back for a hearty swallow.

And Richard smirked in turn and returned to his papers, glibly saying, "Yes, indeed. And you're letting me handle your money."
 
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