Stolen Bride: Rights of the First Night by Joan Russell, 4,161 words, Adult + Gwendolyn and Robert are married in their Parish Church. As they turn to face their friends and family they find Lord FitzWalker standing in the aisle demanding his Rights of the First Night with Gwendolyn. In retribution for taking her virginity from Robert, she decides to make FitzWalker love her as he has never loved another woman. Contains: Virgin Sex, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Multiple Orgasms and more. All the characters in this story are over 18. Adult +
had been in, this was the most magnificent.
He spun her around to face him. Slowly he pulled back the shawl that covered her dark wavy hair that had been allowed to flow loose in honor of her maidenhood. He leaned forward and took a deep breath taking in the lavender she had used to wash with that morning.
“You are magnificent,” he said. His voice was choked with passion.
She reached down and quickly lifted her dress over her head in one easy movement. She had seen too many of Lady Rosylynn’s gowns ripped to peaces to take a chance that this one would be ripped from her. Too much work had gone into the making of the gown and its lace folds to have it ruined in a fit of passion. If he wanted to rip off her clothes he could start with her shift. Before he could protest, she leaned forward and lifted her face to his.
Once again the vibration captured their lips. He wrapped his arms around her drawing her close to him. She pressed against him, feeling the hardness grow against her flat stomach. She opened her mouth to his probing tongue, heard his moan of delight and felt the burning of excitement in her lower stomach. Her own sound of passion was wrenched out of her belly.
She felt his fingers curl around the bodice of her shift, heard the tearing of cloth and felt her unfettered breasts exposed to the chilly air of the room. His hands went to the waistband of her bloomers and she heard the tearing of cloth once more. She stood now naked except for the stockings that were held against the middle of her thighs by the borrowed garter belts with their embroidery of tiny blue forget-me-nots that her sister-in-law had loaned her; her stockings and her new shoes that she had saved for from her tiny wages. Something borrowed and something blue that together held up the only pair of silk stockings that she had ever owned. Her shift and bloomers had been the only part of her attire that was old, everything else was new. Now the old lay torn in pieces at her feet.
About Joan Russell
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Published October 6, 2012
Erotica, Literature & Fiction.