Chapter 1

Caution: This Erotic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Reluctant, Rape, Mind Control, Heterosexual, Fiction, Slut Wife, BDSM, DomSub, MaleDom, FemaleDom, Safe Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Sex Toys, Squirting, Food, Pregnancy, Cream Pie, Double Penetration, Size, Hairy, Big Breasts, Slow, Caution, Violent, Workplace, Nudism, .

Desc: Erotic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Daisy Bitch must get pregnant in thirty-one days without fail.

$450 million dollars might just be suffered forfeiture of in one single dead of the night. Aged, frail, but a greatly rich man—Ian Bitch grew to be a prevailing multi-millionaire all in credit to Preston Dick. A youthful, irresistible and atrocious man: monstrous at the same time and causing so plenty a people to be transformed into dominant millionaires on one requirement that they do anything to cheer him back; Preston wants old Ian's only daughter, Daisy, to become his bitch and wife for not more than thirty-one days; in the course of which she must without lack of success become pregnant with him. Furthermore, he wants the child to be a lovely son. And if Daisy fails flatly in doing all of this for him, their bargain is closed without any sort of negotiations. Firstly, Ian will lose out all his big money and possessions; and then secondly, he will end up broke and dirt-poor like he helplessly was in the first place.

I have at no time been a bitch bastard before as I am right now. Preston Dick wishes me to be his marital woman and loose woman at the same time. Can you even picture this? If I should save the life of my father's hard cash and his chattels furthermore, I have to work out all this that he desires me to execute for him. It provokes and maddens me one way or the other, but legitimately speaking, I have no any other option or alternative here. I am the bitch and the wife all merged into one. I consistently will be.

This is the house that Preston and I will be renting in. I stop and park my car carefully in the driveway, then inch my way out to inspect and check it out. It looks pretty modern and up-to-the-minute to some measure of extent. The windows, the burnished floor, the sleek and unbroken-flowing tiles, the made-of-wood doors and ceiling plank or ceiling board—they are all very newly and recently. Allie Bennett is the woman having to her name the gigantic, bulky, and mammoth house here which she is lending out on a lease. It has about eighteen rooms inside it, all finalized and sewn and tied up perfectedly. I can't help myself but make glad eyes and gawp at them unbrokenly. Everything is faultless and unblemished here.

I know that leasing this house will be a tiny puny thing to Preston. I hear gossip and talk that he might be a billionaire, a multi-billionaire God willing, or by any chance not so this filthy rich. One thing is straightforward even. Preston Dick is rich and made of bona fide, durable money. As for this latest residence of ours, we will be spending up to $10,000 every nigh month. Allie, our lesser, even adds that she might raise the rentals up any moment without any prompt warning, and Preston does not give a damn about it at all.

"What do you think about your new home, Mrs. Dick?" She queries me doubtfully and dubiously. It is almost like she doesn't place much confidence in me adoring and caring to stay in a place as logically attractive and pleasurable as this.

I express to her flatly, "I imagine that it is divine and world-class. I will doubtlessly enjoy my stay in this place, Miss Bennett."

She knits her brows in a kindly and charitable course of action. "If you chime so, Mrs. Dick!"

The hours of darkness have at long last fallen. I am settled down here in the void and unfurnished living room on a lone historical-seeming chair, rocking and moving gently to and fro, scanning and eyeing up all about me silently and noiselessly. My cell phone buzzes all of a sudden and abruptly, but I am speedy and headlong to respond and pick up the unforeseen call. It is my dad, Ian Bitch. I know that he has a creepy and spooky name, but that is just our family weirdo and problem altogether.

"Mr. Bitch. You rang me up at final last. You have no mini idea how long I have been waiting for your call."

Ian sounds penitent and remorseful. "I am so sorry, sweetheart. I was occupied with some stuff here at work. I am through and finished with all of it anyway. And how are you doing there at your new home, my treasured one?"

"I am great, dad. Things are very good here too."

"And that ruthless villain; how is he acting towards you? I swear that if he ever hurts or maltreats you in any way he will ever regret having lent out a hand to me in the first place."

"He has not yet turned up here. I guess that he is having some unaccomplished work somewhere. What do you reckon yourself?"

"Heck—I am not concerned, dear, with what he does and what he doesn't do behind our unsuspicious backs. I am only concerned and bothered about you, my love."

"Well, don't be, dad. Call to mind, I volunteered to do this for our own sake and sanity. I don't ever like to visualize you and I myself thrown out there on the streets and at last helplessly and miserably dispossessed. I will do anything in my power, father—just about any kind of thing, to see that we are safe and sound. I am doing it for you alone. Don't you ever overlook this! You have done as much as you can for me up till now, and I must do all that I can for you from now onwards."

"That is so sweet of you, Daisy, my love."

"Bye dad." I bring the call to an end at this precise note. I can't withstand to converse with him any further than I already have. I am mewling and howling out uncontrollably. I wouldn't ever want him to suffer and be in gross pain and also go though bad, vulgar times. To shirk away from all this, I am going to do exactly what Preston tells me to do. I am now his bitch and wife; don't forget!

By the hour that he shows up, I am all prepared and in readiness to make love and lie down with him in our titanic, lush bed. He is looking a great much deal fagged and whacked and knackered tonight. His red ruby tie is not fixed and set up in its rightful position properly; the buttons on his black jacket are unstrapped and loosened; and even those on the flanges of his shirt are untied and loosed too. His hair is littered and cluttered about all over his head. His skin looks ashy and like death. I am wondering. What exactly the hell was going on with him?

As he ensconces himself down on the bed, I settle down besides him and in charity and compassion ask him, "Are you alright, honey? You look ready to drop down dead and terrifying too. What happened to you?"

He makes a face and glares back at me. "Don't trouble yourself asking. What is there for me to eat anyway?"

"I made a luscious dish of rice and chicken just for you," I mention this with a thrilled and ecstatic smile, hoping that he will twinkle and smirk back at me. He doesn't; and it without fail and beyond the shadow of any doubt snaps and crushes my heart and soul likewise. Is this how I will be living with this unreasonably stony-hearted man for the imminent thirty-one days starting from tomorrow? I wish I can weep and sob out, but then I don't just do it. I mean who will be here to express sympathy and solace to me? One hundred per cent and absolutely no one! Preston has got no futile and despicable time for such acts and pretences. He is surely unkind and merciless indeed!

"I think I shall eat that tomorrow. I will go and shower now if you don't mind."

"Go ahead and take a quick scrub of yourself. I think that it will do you much more good." I am about to get raging and provoked up. I don't care about anything anymore. I wonder if we will even have sex tonight. I have exclusively thirty-one days to make a child or son with him—not more, not less than this. If I will not be shrewd and ingenious here, I won't ever get pregnant with him. I honestly and seriously do mean it.

While Preston is off there showering, I gradually and by inchmeal degrees take off my clothing. I am uncertain and having some reservations as to whether actually do this, or not to. I fear and worry that I might be late in my judgment and reasoning. I have to do it anyway regardless. Every slipping-by minute is exquisitely priceless, and I have to make definite and certain that I sleep and have sex with him as much plenteous as possible. At least this will highly strengthen and enhance my chances of getting pregnant with him.

Even as Preston is rinsing and cleansing himself, I can plainly and beyond question sight and catch a glimpse of him through the see-through glass shower barriers. His bareness and nakedness ... it is all breathtaking and mind-boggling to look at. I don't think that I can get enough and as much as is necessary of him here. I customarily and unfailingly itch and tingle and tickle with restless and edgy desire to watch and lust at him all the never-ending and nonstop.

His buttocks and behinds ... they are so filled and loaded up! Not like a woman's, but exactly how just an average and typically sexual active man ought and meant to be. They are so appealing and making my mouth to water. I wish I was also there in the shower with him to seduce and lead him on and what's more caress and stroke and grab hold of those meaty butts up his thighs there. His slinky and titillating thighs ... they are inviting and arousing! I am getting soggy wet and freaky damp inside my vagina just by eyeing and checking them out. I can feel my breasts swell and grow larger and puffed up too!

All at once and in an instant, I wheel around my face and head away from Preston. I cannot curb myself anymore. Licentiousness and libido is fast consuming and devouring me. Even as I have my face switched away from a stripped buck-naked him, I can visualize in my mind I myself standing there in the shower before him, bashing and socking my lips straight against his while snatching and latching on my hands to his fully-stocked, sensuous, and kissable butts down beneath his back. Damn me! How can I be such a keen and vulgar cheap bitch?

By the time that Preston comes forth out of the shower, I have stilled and quieted don my reproductive urges. It is no effortless and painless thing—but I have worked and carried it out successfully! I swerve and shift myself towards him quietly. He is clothed in an unpatterned white towel. His chest is wide and extraordinarily alluring and arousing-looking too, but it has so sparse and small an effect and upshot on me as compared to those smooth, furry, and spongy-looking buttocks of his. I slurp and swig saliva down my parched throat.

I am every inch uncovered and stark-naked myself. I open and pull apart my thighs so that he can plainly and clearly see my clitoris and its salmon-colored inside down there. I have shaved and snipped away all hair that was on my sex with a knifelike and jagged-edged razor blade. To make things much more stimulating and thought-provoking, I work in and slide my fingers into my vagina, rubbing and caressing it mildly and quietly smooth so that I can stir up and inflame Preston's sexual ache and appetite as a result.

It works out admirably and proficiently smooth and fine. Preston just stands there for a transitory while, eyeing and peeping helplessly at my vagina which I am massaging and stroking and kneading calmly under my subdued, quiet breath. I study and eye him up too. I can take note of a solidified and unbending erection manifest and turn out between his legs. He saunters towards me inchmeal and in his own good time, and then goes ahead to perch and pew himself down here before my very short-winded face and self.

"Are you masturbating and playing with yourself before my very own eyes and face?" The pitch of his voice does sound choked and snappy to some huge extent. Is he really all that annoyed and infuriated with me? I cannot preciously tell.

I seize his hand and then thrust and poke his fingers direct into my vagina. They feel so balmy and temperate inside here ... while my inside itself is this wringing moist and soaking dank. Preston rubs and raps them gently inside while I seal and slam shut my eyes so that he there and then withdraws and takes them out by the minute I unclose and unseal wide open my glad, satisfied eyes.

He then in sincerity makes known to me, "It will not be tonight that I will fuck and hump you up, Daisy. As you can easily make out, I am all joking aside exhausted and spent to well-nigh death. Get a sweetened and delightful sleep, will you, baby?"

Is that all that he has to voice out to me? That is so ugly and unpleasant of him. I watch him get up on his feet and pace to the other side of the bed before undressing utterly naked and then at full speed inching and writhing his way straight into bed. He afterwards places his head down on the pillow guiltlessly and bars shut his eyes to nap and slumber noiselessly. I am quite taken aback and bewildered with all of this. What does this all precisely symbolize? That he does not even have a small piece or scrap of time for me, right? Well—DAMN HIM!

I squirm and worm my way into bed after him and gaze at him irately and angrily before finally flicking off the lights and tossing myself down right besides him. I should get some enjoyable and divine sleep. He won't touch or kiss me tonight, or fuck or bang me up like he is keen on doing with dissimilar women out there. Who knows? He might have so many bitches and wives and I might just be well, his fiftieth one.

It all comes to happen by coincidence, or maybe it is not a stroke of bad luck actually. I jolt and jounce against his bare, soft buttocks with mine own and briskly drift away from him. He comes after me once again and slaps and bashes his ass right against mine. It makes me irate and wrathful by some means, considering the truth that he won't be having sex with me tonight, but I act and work out nothing against this. Next, he shifts and budges himself the other way round so he can look and face my back. I feel his thighs quietly and leniently brush and graze their way against mine, and then his hand lastly making a steadied movement towards my chest so that it is placed and lied right on my unsuspecting breast. I am amazed—I am startled and astonished, but I do nothing still. This is his home besides, and he enacts the rules here while I only bow and submit myself to them. I will let him do and conduct himself like he feels like—honestly!

I must sleep ... I must dream ... I must fall asleep!

Gracing and beautifying this new house of ours is much of a work as it obviously seems like. Not only this. It is highly-priced and splendid too, but I am intent and strong-willed on making my thirty-one day stay in this house as most satisfying and gratifying as I can best make it. Preston wouldn't care about me paying out a few good couple bucks on the ornamentation and beautification of his home. Of course! I could smoothly hire someone to organize the sweat and toil for me, but I would rather work it all out myself then. This way, I won't disburse and shell out all that much money candidly.

For the rest of this story, you need to Log In or Register