Page 23 of His Bride

I let out a slight hiss of discomfort as he slides up inside me, my aching, recently deflowered pussy protesting just a little at this fresh intrusion.

“Good girl,” he praises me as his cock slides into me. “You’re going to be such a good little breeding mate, aren’t you,” hegrowls. “You’re going to take your husband and master’s cock nice and deep whenever I need you. This is your place in life, Mila. Quivering on my dick, your tight, wet cunt pleasuring me.”

He is less gentlemanly this morning. His words are filthy, and the jolting of his hips drives his cock harder into me than before. His big hands slide down my back, taking hold of my lower ass and upper thighs, spreading me wide so he can pound me.

I whimper and whine, feeling the lines of the cane, the marks he left, the ache he ensured I’d still feel today doing their job.

This man is still a stranger to me, but his bare cock is inside me, fucking me, making me take another load of seed into my unprotected pussy. It excites me more than it should. Sometimes he seems so gentlemanly, but at moments like these he is nothing but a brute, taking what he wants from me and not asking whether I want to give it.

I find myself coming with both of those thoughts, and the physical reality of having my pussy fucked. I feel shamefully excited being used this way, knowing this is what I am here for, and what he is not shy about using me for.

I take another load of his seed inside me, and receive a few more hand slaps to my ass before he is done with me.

“I wish I could spend all day in bed with you, but I have to get up,” he says when he has finished. “I have a meeting in short order, and I’m afraid last night having been my wedding night does not change the fact.”

I look at him, a feeling of disappointment sinking through me. Somehow he seems to see that in me. He is a very perceptive man.

“The Artifice does not pay much mind to matters of romance,” he says. “And I am needed at work.”

He says the wordworkas if he is a casual laborer somewhere. But we both know that his work is war. He will not be going to an office. He will be going into government-military buildings, I suppose. Or a palace. Or somewhere. I don’t know anything about the city in which I now dwell. Also, we are essentially in a fortress, so perhaps he works here.

“What am I to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“What is to fill my days now?”

He cocks his head at me, giving me another one of those looks that I cannot quite interpret. “What used to fill your days?”

“Well, I used to walk in the countryside and ride horses, and talk with my mother and sister. Sometimes I would embroider or cross-stitch.”

“I see,” he says. “You have lived a life of leisure. Once you have our first baby, you will be much busier. But for now, you will be able to continue that life in a manner of speaking. I may send you out with one of the servants to shop for clothing. The styles are different here, and you may wish to purchase new attire in order to make an impression socially. I already have invitations for affairs for us both to attend, and as you came with no luggage whatsoever…”

“You will not be shopping with me?”

He gives me a look, somewhat pitying, somewhat amused. “What do you think I do, Mila?”

“I don’t know. War things, I imagine. Though there’s no war here, in this city, so probably writing reports and talking to people and waiting for the Artifice to tell you what to do?”

I see him flinch slightly at the last part of my sentence. He does not like the fact that I just said the Artifice told him what to do. That’s interesting. Our entire situation, the fact that I am here, his, being used by him and bred by him is because the Artifice decreed it. And he just told me how a substance that makes people not believe in the Artifice is being suppressed by the military. He is the military.

He’s conflicted. I wonder what a conflicted general might do.

I wonder if anybody really likes being told what to do, even the most loyal of soldiers. I know I’ve never really liked it. I know that the order imposed by the Artifice is for our own good, but I have to admit, the idea of living in such a way that you make your own rules sounds intriguing. Ridiculous though; how would that even begin to work? It wouldn’t, and that is why we have the Artifice now.

While I mull it, and him, over, Arthur gets up and goes to the bathroom. I hear the shower start to run. A new day is beginning for him. I do not know what it will bring for me. I am naked in a bed full of bits of toast and flakes of bacon and the dried remains of the lust we shared.

I am suddenly aware that my days have the potential to be rather lonely. If he is busy doing whatever terribly important things are required of him in his role, what will I be doing? Even if I were to fall pregnant immediately, it would be months and months before our baby were to be born, and infants are notoriously poor at conversation.

“You said we had invitations to go somewhere. What invitations do we have?”

He emerges from the bathroom, naked aside from a towel wrapped around his waist.

“I have one for tonight,” he says. “If you purchase a gown suitable for the event. It is a soiree hosted by the Good Society, a fundraiser for the poor. It might be a good time and place for you to meet my friends before we host here.”

I’m going to be expected to host, and much more, I realize. My mother and Maraline spent years going over those sorts of things. I was supposed to learn them too, but I never really paid all that much attention.

“Who will shop with me?”

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