by Rosie Zweet
Excerpt #1!
Wedding Night with My Father-In-Law
1811 London, England.
The wedding dinner is such a crush. I feel so happy, that today, I am official become Mrs. Reid.
My heart swells with happiness as I gaze at Andrew’s young, handsome face. I know I will marry him someday; we are betrothed since thirteen years ago when we were both five years old. I know it is expected of us but as we grow up together I come to love him truly.
“You two make a lovely couple, my dear,” Mr. Reid says with beaming smile.
He is my husband father, the only parent he has left. After my own parents passing in boating accident two years ago, he is my only parent too, now.
“Thank you, Uncle, oh… I should call you Father now,” I say, laughing.
Mr. Reid was my parent closest friend and my godparent. I always call him Uncle Ken as long as I remember.
Looking at him closely, he is still handsome despite his advanced years. He must be in his mid-forty now.
He just looks like an older version of my husband. They both have green eyes and brown hair, but Uncle Ken’s hair is streaked with grey, though.
The waltz starts and my husband immediately sweep me into his strong arm.
Tonight is truly splendid time. And I shiver thinking about what will happen later in our wedding night…
***
I am pacing in the room, waiting for my husband to come and consummate our marriage.
I have no mother to tell me what will happen in marital bed, only an aging maiden aunt who gave me brief explanation. She said my husband has to put his manly thing inside me.
She assures me that my husband will know what to do. And for heaven shake, I hope Andrew does know it.
The connecting door of our rooms is creaking open, breaking my reverie. Shortly, Andrew handsome face comes to view. But he seems a bit distracted.
“What take you so long?” I scold him as he walks in, and immediately, climbs the bed.
“Ummm… I just ask Father… you know…” he says, his eyes darted around.
“Oh dear… Don’t tell me you don’t know what to do,” I say, panicked.
“Calm down if you will. Of course I know,” he says with touch of wounded feeling. “It just… I never do it with a girl… a real girl… you know…”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Never mind… darn it… let’s just do it,” he says, annoyed.
Clumsily, we take of our clothes. And I lie on my bed naked.
I blush slightly when I see my husband lean, naked torso, and then I flush some more when I see his thing. It seems so big and looks odd, poking between his wiry thighs.
Swiftly, he climbs to the bed and takes his position between my legs. I close it in reflect.
“Ummm… you should open—”
“Yes, yes,” I cut him, starting to feel annoyed too.
He scoots closer and puts his thing just outside the lips of my womanhood or I should call it cunt, like I heard a footman cursed long time ago, he didn’t realized that I was in hearing shot, of course.
I feel Andrew pushes his hot thing, nudging my closed, virgin lips. “Ahhh,” he moans.
“Is it in?” I ask in wonder.
“Emm… no. I think there is something wrong with your cunt. I can’t put it in,” he blurts.
“What?!” I ask with yell.
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Excerpt #2!
Charity and the Villagers
1802 England.
I walk with basket full of bread to Peter the Carpenter’s house. He is father of my former maid, Molly. She made me promise to take care his aging father before she went to London to seek a better life.
I am singing softly as I walk through the village’s dusty road. Occasionally, I nod my head or have a small talk when I see someone I know.
Unlike my lofty Cousin Arabella, I know all these villagers by name. They are my friend, my real friend. I like them and they me.
As an orphan and poor relation, I know that I am just a little more than servant myself. My uncle, Lord Shaw, and my departed Aunt never cruel, or treat me less than what I deserve, of course, but I am not their daughter. They are not pampered me like Cousin Arabella.
I admit that I am little jealous of my beautiful cousin. At sixteen, she is only two year younger than me, but she has it all. She has light blonde hair, slender, graceful body and angelic face, and foremost handsome fiancé who will marry her when she turns eighteen.
I am not saying that I am hideous. It is just I have wicked face and body, Molly often told me. Face and body of courtesan. I am not sure what she meant by that, for I always live in the country side and never saw the lady of the night.
I think it is related to my cherry full lips, cat eyes, big tits and rounded bottom.
Without I realize, sun is already high in the sky and Molly’s small cottage comes to view. I walk faster to its door, and swiftly knock the wooden door.
Shortly, the door opens. And Peter wrinkled face greets me with smile.
“Come in, Miss,” he says enthusiastically before he closes the door with soft click.
“This is bread from the cook,” I say, putting the basket on the table. “How’s your health?”
“I’m good, Miss. But you know…”
I look at his poor face. I know his ailment. And after all this time, I wonder why he still so shy.
“Oh Peter… of course, I’ll help you. Just sit there and open your breeches,” I say with kind smile.
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