Page 88 of Wanting What’s Wrong

Six

Jenna

I t’s Sunday.

The shop is closed.

Which means, apparently, I’m not allowed to wear clothes. Big, bossy daddy has a lot of rules, and me and my red bottom are learning them slowly but surely. It’s been four days and he’s fucked me on every surface in the house.

I’ve fed him on a schedule that he laid out. Morning feeding in bed, his head on my lap, my breast dangling down into his mouth as I finger comb his hair and tell him all the things I dream of in life. Then, he eats my pussy, or fucks me until I’m boneless, then nurses again.

I wake with him latched on, I sleep through his fucking me slow and easy, feeling him leaking out of me when I wake. He even took me in the barn, latched to the crossties, on all fours making me moo for him.

I thought it would be humiliating but something down in my core wants to be what he needs. And forgive me, but pretending to be his cow while he mounted me from behind like a bull, hands squeezing my tits like udders, had me calling for God and praying for forgiveness.

He left me with Granny for a few hours last night. Her home is in town, close to the shop. A nice Victorian house filled with pictures of Cal and her husband. A little sort of shrine to her daughter, Cal’s mother and his father.

There were faded, worn Playgirls on the coffee table. A stocked liquor cabinet and a pantry full of edibles and Little Debbie snacks.

She says it’s medicinal. For her glaucoma.

Whatever, Granny.

I don’t care. She ordered pizza delivered and we ate and talked. She apologized for calling my mom a name, but I also told her I understood. I love my mom, but she’s not done me right. Knowing I’m not going back there, a sense of future possibilities has started blooming inside me.

Something I never allowed myself before.

To dream.

When Cal came to pick me up, he looked different. His shirt was pulled, a button popped, and his knuckles were scuffed.

When I asked, he just kissed the fading bruise under my eye and said, “Just taking care of Daddy things, baby. Nothing you need to worry about.”

Now, he’s standing in what is now our bedroom, his hair damp from a shower, looming over me.

“You got two jobs today,” Cal says, dragging me out of bed by my ankles. “Keep my cock warm. And don’t let those tits go dry.”

I should blush. I should protest. But after two days of Cal making me feel like the most important person in the world, I’m taking his demands in my stride.

I stretch like a cat, aching and needy, pretending I’m not listening, but his hand around my throat quickly advises me against that as he scoops me up like I weigh nothing and carries me down the stairs.

His beard scratches my bare shoulder as he mutters, “Gonna unload inside all your holes today. We’re going to consummate every fucking surface in this house, baby girl.”

He carries me first to the kitchen. The light is warm and golden, pouring in through the wide windows.

The scent of coffee mingles with the faint memory of sex, and the hardwood is cool under my bare feet when he sets me down, then lands a stinging slap on my ass once and growls, “You stay put, baby girl. Gotta oil my saddle.”

“That what you’re callin’ it?” I tease.

“Fucking smart mouth,” he grumbles as he disappears into the mudroom, and I’m left standing there, naked and flushed, thighs pressed together, wondering what the hell just happened.

My nipples ache. My whole-body aches.

I try to behave. Really, I do, but oil his saddle?

Now?

Forget this nonsense. The second he’s gone, I climb onto the dining table, stretch out like a feast, and let my legs fall open. I cup my breasts, roll my nipples between my fingers, and groan low in my throat, sliding my hand down between my legs.

If he’s not going to take care of me, I will.

The sound of boots stops me. Then a low disappointed Daddy sort of snorting sound.

“I told you to stay put,” Cal says, stepping back in with a leather strap in one hand and a glass of sweet tea in the other.

I glance at him from beneath my lashes. “You left me. Said you had to oil your saddle. With me standing there, ready and waiting.”

“You think you just do what you want still?”

“I thought you were hungry, Daddy. Then you just left. ”

His jaw tightens. “I am hungry. But you need to do as you’re told.”

I frown. “Thought I’d serve myself up for you.”

He crosses the room in three steps and grabs my jaw. Tilts it up. “Open.”

I part my lips on a grin, and he brings the tea to my mouth, letting me sip slow while his eyes devour me.

“You drink, Daddy’ll drink. But you’re gonna learn to mind me, too.”

He kneels right there at the edge of the table, between my legs, and latches onto my breast like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. One, then the other, slow and greedy, eyes never leaving mine.

I gasp, arching up, my thighs trembling. “You like your Sunday milk, Daddy?”

“Like?” he growls. “I fuckin’ need it.”

When he’s had his fill, he lays me down flat, binds my wrists with the saddle strap, and spreads me wide with his rough hands. The leather creaks with every little tremor of my body.

“You’re my little hucow now,” he says, voice low and thick. “All mine. House, shop, land, milk, pussy. Mine.”

“Yours,” I whisper. “Always yours.”

He groans and dives in, eating me like I’m his holy ritual, like my pleasure is the altar and his mouth is the offering. I sob, shatter, spill over his tongue.

He flips me over, spanks me until I’m crying and begging for him to stop.

After, he palms the redness, soothing me, lifting me against him, my head on his shoulder.

He carries me to the living room, lowering into a big, soft upholstered chair by the fireplace, sitting me on his lap facing him.

“Put Daddy inside you. Show me what my little milky daughter was born to do. ”

I wiggle into position, reaching for him, my hand around the barrel of his shaft, standing his cock straight up as I lower myself, taking each inch with a hissing breath until he’s pushing up into my belly.

“There. Now, feed me and fuck me. Slow and easy. It’s Sunday, we take it easy on Sunday.”

Then he rocks me in his lap by the fire, as I slide him in and out of my body.

“I’m not going to last long with you doing that,” he growls around my tit as I tighten my inner muscles around him.

I giggle, even as my own orgasm starts to gather like sweet tension in my core.

“This is your spot now,” he murmurs, cupping my tits as they dribble milk down his chest. “Naked and needy, sittin’ on Daddy’s cock every Sunday while the world shuts up outside.”

I whimper, holding onto his shoulders, trembling from the inside out. “I’ll stay forever.”

“You better,” he growls, rutting into me. “Or I’ll tie you to the porch with your tits out and let the whole damn ranch know who you belong to.”

I cry out, clenching around him. “Yours, Daddy. Just yours.”

“You’re gonna be my wife, baby.” His voice is tight, eyes on mine. “I’m taking care of you forever. Your dreams will be my dreams. Whatever comes at you, I’ll be there to take it on.”

Wife.

“ Yes .” I hiss as my orgasm topples over me. Rough hands bind around my waist, pushing me down as he empties into my clenching core. Be buck and jerk and I moan and call for the one man I already knew was somehow sent to save me.

He finishes in side me there, then on the couch, then in the porch chair while the sun sets, my milk wetting every surface he presses me against. He makes me scream, makes me laugh, makes me cry from how full and beautiful I feel.

We eat lactation cookies sitting naked on the living room floor as he fingers me.

He feeds me bites between orgasms and I lick milk from his cock as he teaches me to take him down my throat, both of us so messy and milk drunk I’m wondering if tomorrow the hangover will set in and everything will go back the way it was.

If that’s what’s going to happen, I don’t ever want to wake up. I never want this to end.

I just know my body is his playground now.

My milk is his obsession.

And I’m the luckiest, dirtiest girl alive.