Dinner for Mrs. Jones

Dinner for Mrs. Jones

Status: Finished

Genre: Historical Fiction

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Historical Fiction

Summary

Miranda was forced into marriage by her parents in order to pay off the family debt. She's nineteen, a virgin, and even somewhat pretty, so it only made sense. Her husband? Why, the eminent Mr. Jones, a railway tycoon and thirty years her senior. This is the story of their wedding night.

Summary

Miranda was forced into marriage by her parents in order to pay off the family debt. She's nineteen, a virgin, and even somewhat pretty, so it only made sense. Her husband? Why, the eminent Mr. Jones, a railway tycoon and thirty years her senior. This is the story of their wedding night.

Content

Submitted: March 23, 2018

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: March 23, 2018

A A A

A A A


Until the day my parents informed me of my marriage to this gentleman, I had no particular thoughts about him. He was Mr. Jones, railway tycoon, richest man in town, married twice, divorced twice. Despite this, there was no scandal surrounding him--he was a completely honest, honourable, and, most importantly, prosperous man, cordial to all.

He attended church every Sunday, kept a clean house, didn't drink more than any other man, didn't smoke more than any other man, and, as for gambling, he avoided it altogether, even though he could have afforded to lose quite a bit, and it still wouldn't have made a difference to his welath.

His house was outside of town, but near enough to the main road that it was easily reached. Out of the smoke and dust and pollution, and into the open air, with extensive grounds, and a hunting area all set up for him, whenever he wished. As for what was within the house, there was no telling about the vast amount of riches within.

Such a man, thirty years my senior and nearing his fiftieth birthday not soon after I reached my nineteenth, scarcely ever crossed my mind.

Until the day my parents informed me that we were broke. Not a penny to our name, my father out of business, both parents desperate. I was the oldest out of nine children--I was responsible for helping them, they said.

My way of helping them consisted in this: to more or less sell myself, sell my body, to pay the debt and bring them back to where they had been. To this day, I don't know how we could have lost the money so suddenly--only Mr. Jones knows that.

In any case, I was presented to him an hour after being implored by my parents to speak with the gentleman--at this point, they hadn't yet told me that he was my intended, and would be providing full payment of my dowry, etc. All I knew was that I was to meet with him, as he came to "comfort" my family and offer his services in aid.

All I knew of him was that he was a nice man. Nothing else.

"Good evening, Mr. Jones," I said, curtseying low, as I had been taught many times, back when we'd still had a governess. I felt so bad for my younger sisters, the ones who perhaps would never be able to get the lessons that I was blessed with. If Mr. Jones would help us though, maybe they stood a chance.

Let me know describe Mr. Jones. As already mentioned, he was nearing his fiftieth birthday, but was well-preserved. My father, five years his junior, looked much older. Mr. Jones had little wrinkles, for his skin was plump. His belly was quite large, his entire weight a mixture of fat and muscle, from years of building up his name in the railroad. (The story went that he built the first mile of rail all by himself, but this has been disputed.) His hands were large and looked rough, scarred over by years of work, his ears were large, so he always wore a wide-brimmed white hat (all of his clothes were usually white, actually, and made from the finest rawhide), his hair was white, and for what he lacked at the top of his head from balding, he more than made up for in a thick yet sophisticated moustache. Altogether, he walked like a man sure of himself and his place in life, his thumbs linked around his belt loops, the belt itself with a clasp in the shape of a bull's head.

Altogether, an imposing figure for little ol' me, barely five foot two, plumper than I liked to be, especially around the hips and chest, my hair a dull, washed out blonde, and my eyes too round, though, I was told, a lovely shade of blue.

I bit the inside of my cheek to help keep calm.

"Good day, Miss Milly," he said, calling me by my townwide nickname. Nevermind that my birth name was Miranda--even I only responded to "Milly" now.

"Good day, Mr. Jones."

He gave me a wry smile, which quite surprised me--I had never seen Mr. Jones smile until then, for he was always serious in business when walking about the town, and solemn in church, as a good Christian should be. I had heard him sing with the choir once for Christmas--he had a lovely baritone, but still, he didn't smile, even when singing "Joy to the World".

"Call me Morry," he said, taking a seat. "Less formal, and I'd prefer it to 'Mortimer'."

I nodded and took a seat as well, though I couldn't bring myself to call him that, perhaps ever.

"I suppose you know why I'm here?"

I nodded again, smiling this time. "Oh, yes, my parents informed me of how you will help us. Although, I don't really see how my talking to you will do any good; you see, I haven't much of a head for figures, nor do I know anything about business. We are, I know, truly in your debt for your kindness."

"There is no debt," he retorted, as my mother brought in tea. As she caught me twiddling my thumbs, as I often did when I was nervous--and, indeed, Mr. Jones intimidated me very much--she shot me a glare, and so I stopped.

"Thank you, Ellie," he commented genially to my mother, to which she gave a nod, and then me another glare before she left the room. I had no idea why she should be so vexed, except that I was clearly doing something wrong.

"I beg your pardon, sir," I said, bringing us back to our discussion, which I felt the need to persist in, even though he had already made it clear that there was no debt. He was a fair gentleman, and so I had to be fair as well. "But I do believe that we'll be indebted to you for years afterwards."

He took a sip of his tea, still scalding, but it didn't seem to affect him, and looked at me openly. "Milly, I'm a direct man. Have to be in this business, you know, where beatin' around the bush won't get you anywhere but lost. A man's got to say what a man's got to say, and do what he's got to do. Now, I know you womenfolk are a mite more sensitive on this, course I understand, but this is no time to beat about the bush as they usually do."

I folded my hands on my lap. "By all means, sir, be direct," I said, hardly believing that I was inviting him to be so--it was not my usual practice.

"Milly, I'm fixing to take you as my wife, and your pa's already given his consent. I'll help your family at no cost, no debt, no, not even interest, if you'll be my companion from now on."

All the blood in my body seemed to still at the mention of that, and I stood up abruptly, wondering, absurdly enough, how much of the decision was really mine, if my father had already given his consent. He had said if I'd be his wife--there was no alternative, surely?

"M-Mr. Jones..." I stammered, quite out of breath.

Setting down his teacup, Mr. Jones also stood, towering over me, his hands in his belt loops. "I'm a busy man, Milly, and, as I said, have no time for beating around the bush. What's it to be? Yes or no?"

There was no room for argument, not when I felt so small, so scared, in comparison to his greatness. Just as he towered over me like a wolf hunting its prey, so I felt trapped, inescapably so.

"I-I will marry you, sir," I said.

Giving me one more curt nod, he brushed past me out of the room. "Till our wedding day, then," he said.

___________________________________________________________________

The wedding was hardly less than a week later. No time for beating around the bush, indeed! Having neither the time nor the finances to buy me a new dress, my mother altered her own wedding gown for my uses, for which she had to add a bit more frabric to the corset at the back in order to fit my bosum, as well as widen it around the hips to fit my large, round bottom.

"Ooh, Milly, you'll be a good lady yet," she panted, after finally having gotten me in the wretched thing, which not only choked me to death, but brought the pale flesh of my breasts closer to my face than I thought possible. Surely, an indecent match!

The ceremony was short, and took place in the church, privately. None of my friends from town came, nor anyone apart from my family. The parson was there, of course, and, in place of his family, Mr. Jones brought along a couple of business associates. So, with grim-faced lawyers and accountants on one side, my barren family on the other, we said our vows and exchanged rings.

The only kiss I received, much to my relief, was a rough one on the cheek, his moustache scratching me lightly.

The dinner was hosted at Mr. Jones's house--now my house--and although I still felt that I had no more breath, it still caught as I looked around me at all the splendor of the mansion. Fine marble, smooth wood, crystal, plush carpets, bedazzling curtains, antique and beautiful furniture, and too many knicknacks to list all by themselves. And this only in the dining room and parlour!

The plate set before me was of the finest dinner I had ever eatten--steak, thick and juicy, mashed potato salad, and wholesome pie with whipped cream for dessert. Just based on that dinner alone, I expected to gain five more pounds, come morning.

I was thirsty, but not permitted to drink anything until after everyone had left, during which time Mr. Jones led me upstairs to his drawing room, and handed me a glass of white wine.

"How does it feel here, Mrs. Jones?" he asked me after my first cup.

"Oh...sir, I-I cannot say,"I said.

He asked me again after my second cup, "How does it feel here, Mrs. Jones?"

I was so inexperience with drink that, by merely the second cup, I felt already tipsy, giddy, and wanting nothing more than to be out of my stifling dress. It was my mother's wedding dress, I knew, but so uncomfortable, despite the extra fabric!

"Oh, sir, I feel it's grand!" I hiccupped. "So warm, though. Mightn't we move away from the fire?"

"We shall, Milly," he answered, getting up and leading me out of the room, into a much darker, cooler room.

I breathed in the air, catching nothing but traces of his scent within--rawhide and tobacco, and also a musky sort of smell that I couldn't place. I swayed slightly on my feet.

"S-sir, is this to be my room?"

"I told you to call me Morry," he said, closing the door behind him. I had no idea that he'd also entered.

"Very well then. Tell me...Morry...is this to be my room?"

"From now on, pet."

It was the first time he'd ever called me by that sort of name--the first time anyone had, as a matter of fact--and I found myself shuddering at it, brought back to my senses. I had no idea what I'd been playing at earlier--I wasn't at all drunk.

Turning, I expected to be able to leave the room, where I sensed something amiss, but he stood there, blocking my path.

"Not tonight, Milly. Tonight, we become man and wife," he said.

"Oh...sir..."I breathed, backing away. I had only a vague idea of what he spoke of--my governesses never went into detail about it. But, the look in his eyes made it very clear what he intended--and why I should be afraid.

"Please...sir..."

"I'd have experience, Milly. I assure you, I know what I'm doing, and it won't hurt, I promise." He laughed a bit. "Even if it does hurt, it'll pass. Now, Milly."

Still, I backed away, only to trip in my clumsiness, which made him laugh.

"Milly, you do beat all!" he roared, his belly jiggling with merriment. Then, he grew serious. "Milly, undress."

"Oh. oh." I groaned, knowing where this would lead, even if only vaguely, but the temptation to breathe was too great. Untying my own corset, I still the dress off, now standing before him in only my petticoats. Well, almost. My breasts were bare, no undergarments being able to fit into the dress, as they would only have added extra volume to my already ample bosum. From the knees up, I was covered, but my arm was my only protection for my breasts.

"What, girl, you wore only that dress to cover yourself? How lewd, you little minx."

I was still very confused, not understanding what his words meant.

"Lower your arm, Milly."

I gasped. "N-no!"

"I'm your husband, Milly, I'll see you whether you like it or not. Lower your arm."

This was a man who had thousands of workers under his command, who had given public speeches and generous donations. The man who had saved my family from ruin, and was now about to ruin me.

"O-oh!" I groaned, lowering my arm and exposing my breasts. The coolness of my room made my nipples perk up as they were exposed to the cold, and the stare of his eyes.

"Come here, Milly," he directed.

This, I could not do, so, finally, he came to me, knowing I had no escape.

"Kneel, Milly," he said, after staring at me for a full minute.

I did as I was told, feeling as though he were about to knight me or something.

Instead, I heard a slight rustling, and then looked up as he took out the instrument that I had only ever seen when bathing my baby brother--a man's cock. It was uncannily large and thick, and though it hung mostly limp, I could tell that, stiff, it would be larger yet.

I felt a slight buzz at the back of my head.

"Milly, tonight you're to learn what men and women do. But, first, you must prepare me." He held out his cock expectantly, close to my face, but not quite touching my lips.

"Suck it, girl."

I grimaced, shaking my head. "Oh, please, sir!"

"Suck it!" he rumbled, and then shoved the thing closer.

It was between my lips by the time I realized what was happening, and it tasted most foul--clean, but still repulsive. He moved his hips lightly, moving the cock back and forth in my mouth, but not quite enough to choke me, nor rapidly. Just slowly, as though testing out new ground to plow.

"Suck it, Milly. It'll be over much quicker that way," he said.

I don't know why, but I believed him, and started to do what he said. At some point, a bit of liquid came out, which I then swallowed, not knowing what else to do. For, now he grasped my head and would not get his cock out of my mouth even if I begged him to. Not that I could speak to ask him, though--my mouth was full.

He made gutteral noises in the back of his throat, but seemed satisfied as he removed his cock from my mouth, now stiff and coated with my saliva.

"You'll learn to do better in the future," he sighed, shaking his head. "Now, continue undressing."

I shook both with fear and with cold as I stood, removing my petticoats and even my knickers, until I stood before him completely naked. By this time, he had also undressed and stood naked before me, fat, old, with little grey hairs on his chest. It was then that I realized: the musk came from him.

"Get on the bed, Milly."

I whimpered as I turned, wondering how to lengthen out the walk, somehow find a way to escape, maybe. But then, a sharp slap on my behind had me scurrying for the covers like a frightened dog. I stared back at him in shock, feeling the throbbing warmth on my bottom.

"Oof, you're going to be a good one to have," he chuckled, gliding foreward. "I've experience, Milly, from two wives and then some, and I guarantee you'll come to enjoy this." Somehow, I highly doubted that.

"Lie back."

Cornered, I had no choice.

Lying back, I felt more trapped than I ever had before, but also excited--the anticipation of the unknown, I suppose.

"Please sir, what are you going to do?" I whispered, closing my eyes and wishing that I could use my hands to cover the embarrassing parts of my body, but known that he wouldn't allow me to.

"I'm going to please you, Milly, like I said."

Then, without warning, suddenly I felt his lips on mine, his fat body on top of mine, though not leaning all of his weight. His cock was still stiff, slightly between my legs, but he wasn't probbing them open, not yet. Instead, his rough tongue entered my mouth first, and started exchanging saliva. Wet, thick, hot--oh, god, I felt as though he were eating me alive!

I moaned, desperate for breath when he didn't stop after a while, and even dared to raise my hand to slap him away, but, sensing this, he held it down with one of his own. By the time he leaned back to give me breath, I was gasping for air, as though I had been on the verge of drowning.

"Oh...sir..." I panted.

He smiled, looking rather handsome, I'll admit, seeming satisfied with this. "Did you like that, Milly?" he asked.

"S-sir...I couldn't breathe," I gasped, when I finally had enough air to get the words out.

"Morry, Milly. Remember--you're to call me that from now on."

Then, not waiting for my answer, he leaned down to kiss me again, but not on my mouth this time. Instead, he'd moved down to my neck, and I felt his tongue here later. I gasped, shocked at what he was doing. I-I had sweated today, under so much stress, and now he was licking it! He moaned as he did so.

"M-Morry--ah!" My eyes flew wide as I suddenly felt his hand on the most unexpected of places--my breasts--which he then proceeded to stroke and carress, squeezing tightly when I moved to push him away.

His mouth joined his hands in due time, suckling on my nipples as though he were a babe, biting them very hardly when I gasped and begged for him to stop. They were buzzing now, all the way to the tips of my large nubs, which had gone hard and perky, as though I was cold. They too, were coated with a mixture of his saliva and my sweat. Oh, now they buzzed, and...

"Please sir...it's cold...please...c-continue," I begged, preferring the warmth of his mouth over the coldness of the air in the room.

He chuckled. "I didn't know you were such a slut, Milly--do you like me doing these things to you?"

I moaned as he continued, more from relief than from pleasure. My nipples had always been most sensitive, which was part of the reason why I couldn't bear to wear too tight a corset, or even excessive undergarments, even in winter. My breasts were large, I knew, but they needed room to expand--I felt that I'd suffocate otherwise. Now, I had just learned that they were most sensitive to the cold--and felt much better in my husband's mouth than not.

His beard scratched my belly roughly as he lucked downwards, leaving a trail of his saliva and scent all over me--like a dog marking his territory. I was his territory.

"A-ah ohhhh!" I shrieked in surprise and strange ecstasy when he reached an area I had never thought possible a mouth to reach--between my legs, in the warm folds of my flesh, now rapidly becoming wet as he contributed his tongue to their service.

"Do you know what they call this, Milly?" he asked between licks.

But I was too caught up in my vision of colours and focus--such intense focus!--on that area that he was now licking. Out of everything he had done, this felt the most pleasing, but my nipples were cold again. Spitting on my hand to get it wet with saliva, I brought my own hands to my breasts, my nipples in particular, and started rubbing and pulling and pinching--yes, pinching and hard--just as he had done, but without the teeth.

"Your cunt, Milly," he chuckled, his tongue extending further out.

Then in.

For, down there, he had discovered a hole that I had never known existed, one rapidly becoming wet due to his efforts, and was now making it wetter, sucking my dry and making me wet at the same time. My cunt, as he called it, was now on fire, and the more I massaged my breasts and he licked, the hotter it became.

"You little slut!" he repeated, now straddling my pussy, his face buried there.

Indeed, I sounded like one--moaning and shrieking for all I was worth. The fire was so intense, filled me with such longing, and gave me such pleasure as I had never felt before.

At one point, he stopped, and extended his fingers within me where his tongue had been before. He confirmed that I was indeed very wet, and watched as I continued fondling myself, my breasts perked and sensitive, but demanding more. I managed to lean down and touch my tongue to one of my nipples at one point, but he frowned, disapproving of this.

"We'll do more later, Milly, but for tonight, I'm to please you. You're not to please yourself."

But, as I whimpered in protest, sounding yet again like a bitch in heat, he allowed me at least to continue caressing my breasts.

Finally, just when my hips had started to move in rhythm with his fingers of their own accord, he stopped, removed his fingers, and licked them clean.

I moaned. "Sir, please...I-I'm dirty."

"Yes," he smiled. "You are. Prepare yourself, Milly. Spread your legs wide open like the slut you are--yes, that's a girl."

I had done as he asked, unable to even pretend at denying him any more. He'd said he was skilled--now I knew exactly how, though I had yet to experience the most pleasure I could, I was certain. I expected it as he prepped himself with his cock, erect, large, and bulging, to enter me.

He did so quickly, in one thrust, but what I felt wasn't pleasure.

Quite the opposite, actually--still fire, but in pain.

I screamed, to the point that he covered my mouth with his hand, after which only my moans were heard.

"It will hurt only this time. After that, you'll only feel pleasure," he assured me.

But, I didn't know what he was talking about. All I felt was pain, over and over as he thrust into me, holding nothing back. I felt wetness between my legs, but it wasn't either his or mine of pleasure--it was blood. He was ripping me apart from the inside, and I felt certain that I should die. It had seemed so pleasureable at first--just like Eve had thought about the forbidden fruit when she had been tricked into it by Satan. Now, my own husband had done the same to me.

And yet, with the more thrusts he forced upon me, the less strength I had, feeling drained. I had no idea when he would finish, just that I wished he could. Until....

"Ah! Oooooh!"

My moan was of a different nature this time, and, noticing this, he removed his hand and allowed me to moan freely, for the pleasure had returned. Just as an uncertain jolt at first, but steady, soon engulfing me just as before, but from the inside this time.

As his cock moved in and out of me along my fleshy walls, now wet again, I felt it, stronger than before, driving me mad with moaning. My hips followed suit, adding the sounds of smacking flesh to our chorus.

"Oh, oh, oh, oooooh!" I moaned, not holding back. What was there to be done? I had already experienced the gravest pain to woman's virginity, mine no longer intact. But, as soon as the blood was gone along with the pain, the slutty pleasure returned, and, despite the fact that this was an older man, a fat man who wasn't particularly handsome, who had forced his cock into my mouth and then forced himself into me, I wanted him. I wanted his cock. I wanted it to move harder and faster within me, feeling myself beyond reach of sense, only encompassed by pleasure. If I go the ultimate pleasure, it would be worth it--everything would be worth it.

"Ah! ah! ah! S-sir...ooooooh yes!" I moaned, bringing my hands to massage my breasts again. He aided me in this, and stuck his rough tongue in my mouth again.

The combination of all these things had me responding more than ever, and soon I felt a quiver start from within me, shuddering outwards as I shrieked in ultimate ecstasy into his mouth.

He followed suit soon after, spilling something wet and warm into me, making me fill all the hotter, our bodies not coated in sweat and mixed.

He lay atop me, breathing heavily, chuckling lightly.

"You little slut," he repeated. "At first, I wasn't sure whether you'd like me as a husband, but it seems you don't care." He pulled out of me, limp again, and I whimpered in protest, but the warmth of his spill was still inside me--though coming out, slightly.

I breathed heavily, staring up at him, as he was crowding my vision.

"You want my cock in you more often from now on, won't you?" he confirmed.

Tired as well, despite myself, I nodded.

"You'll want to suck it to get it harder next time, won't you?"

I nodded.

"I might even let you pleasure yourself--would you like that?"

Eagerly, I nodded.

"And I'm going to cum in your cunt a lot, you whoreish girl. I'm going to spill my seed into you and bless you with a baby--and still have you after that. Will you have my baby, Milly?"

I'd always wanted to be a mother. "Yes,"I answered.

"As many babies as I want, Milly? Even if I do this you to every night, maybe even more than once?" he confirmed. "I'm an old man, but I do want children, Milly, heirs to pass on my estate. Will you have them for me?"

"Yes." For the first time that night, I smiled at the thought.

"Let's start, then."

And so we did, that night and every night after.

And that was the start of my life as the new Mrs. Jones.


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