colapinto is objectively the most slept on driver on the grid sorry. he's a milf hunter. he knows how to forge signatures for some reason. he wants to marry lionel messi. he's a hamilton fanboy. he falls asleep in his car inbetween qualifying sessions. he actively encouraged people buying knockoff merch. literally what more could you want
ā³ A/N The best part about fiction writing is delving into the dark corners where people dare not to tread. This one was an interesting challenge! Special thank you to @theonottsbxtch and @lipstickandliveries for helping me brainstorm when I got stuck and to @oztri and @obsessedhoneycomb and T-Anon for supporting me in this crazy endeavour x
ā³ Summary: George thought he had seen all the beauty of the earth until a woman as dainty and beautiful as a prairie rose moved into the ranch next door. He knew they were destined to be together and he was going to prove that. By any means necessary.
ā³ Pairings: Dark!Cowboy!George Russell x Unnamed!Female!Character
ā³ Word Count: 7.1k
ā³ Warnings: 18+, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, non-con/rape, dark content, varying degrees of sexual abuse, unnatural use of cum, non-consenting voyeurism, stalking, kleptomania, home invasion, male masturbation, sexual coercion, sexist and patriarchal undertones, impregnation kink, restraining with hands, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, nonconsenting creampie, brief implications of abortion, mentions and descriptions of violence and death. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. THIS IS NOT AN ACCURATE PORTRAYAL OF THE CHARACTERS' REAL LIFE COUNTERPARTS. PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE DECIDING TO CONSUME THIS MEDIA.
George had lived on the grassy plains for as long as he had breath in his lungs.Ā
He had trod the dry dirt roads and made friends with the distant mountains and learned to live in harmony with the wildlife since he was a boy. He had been raised in the hands of mother nature, thriving off of her bounty and kneeling before her beauty beneath blue skies and starry inked blankets. There was never a desire within him to follow the pull of manifest destiny for he believed that his corner of the world was the most divine, the most beautiful. There was nothing more he needed than what it could provide.
After all, it provided her.Ā
She was wearing a soft pink dress the day he first saw her. The shape of her body was trimmed in modest frills and soft flowing fabric that swirled around her knees, the neckline cut straight across her bosom and tied snug with a dainty bow right in the front. Her wheat-coloured western hat matched her boots that clicked across the uneven wood flooring of the general store and she carried herself with a feminine grace that wasnāt often seen on the plains. She was as dainty and beautiful as a prairie rose.Ā
His prairie rose.Ā
George was entranced by her from that day forward, that the Earth had given him nothing as bountiful and generous as the fair woman whom he had laid eyes on that afternoon in the store. Something changed in him that day; tugging at his heart in an undeniable knowledge that she was meant to be his. It was nothing short of love at first sight. Fate, one might think. Especially realizing that the beautiful woman who had drifted by him in the general store, wafting past a breeze like springtime rain, was to then occupy the ranch to the south-west of his very own.Ā
He brought her a house-warming pie just to be neighbourly, tying his horse to the pickets of her front porch and removing his hat out of courtesy once he knocked. When she answered the door, she looked even more ravishing out of the prying eyes of townsfolk, in the comfort of her front entryway, socked feet trimmed in little white ruffled lace around the ankles. George was cordial and as well-mannered as ever, introducing himself and welcoming her to town, offering the homemade cherry pie that he assured her was his grannyās most secret recipe.Ā
When she smiled graciously in return, the clouds parted and rays of golden light shone down upon him. George had never seen the ocean but he could fathom that they wouldnāt hold a candle to the colour of her eyes; the blue of the water, the brown sandy beaches, the green of the lush shorelines. She was more beautiful than the elements. He was so transfixed by her and her radiance that he barely recalled her introducing herself, sharing where she was from. They had time. They had a lifetime. George was sure of it. The unmissable racing of his heart said so; like a sign from the heavens and earth.Ā
However, it didnāt take long for him to realize she was married; the little gold ring on her hand tying her to the slender man whom appeared beside her in the doorway and set a hand upon her back. A skinny thing, the husband was, hardly any meat on his bones, looking as if he had hardly lifted a tool in his life and, now, was anticipating running a ranch. Not like George and his hands rubbed raw from years of labour, tugging on reins, and working to survive on the plains just as his father had and his father before him. Men were supposed to work the land, to provide, to give back graciously to the earth and pay it forward to their equals. No woman deserved a man who had been served by a golden spoon.Ā
Her husband shared in passingāas if it were something to be proud ofāthat he was from the city but he had visited his uncleās farm a few times in his adolescent years and so he felt prepared to start this new way of life. That somehow a few timid horse back rides around a fenced in paddock made him qualified to turn to the land to provide for a wife, for a family.Ā
Poor prairie rose. Her husband was pathetic.Ā
Of course, despite his internal judgement, George was no cruel man, and so he bit his tongue and carried on with the respect that he would give to anyone else. He made the new couple feel welcome in town; offering directions or tips, sharing his excess baked goods or dairy from his milkcow, and helping to guide the confused husband through very basic ranch work. She would watch them work sometimes as she hung up the linens on the clothesline or from the rocking chair on the front porch, indulging in another slice of Georgeās homemade cherry pie.Ā
There was something about the way she let the fork linger between her cherry-stained lips after every bite, eyes locked on their pair of them, that sparked something fiery in his chest. She was looking at him. It was undeniable.Ā
And George would tip his hat in her direction like a gentleman just to see her smile.Ā
She always invited him for dinner after all his help on the ranch, insisting when he tried to modestly decline. Not that he ever truly wanted to decline, but he didnāt want to come on too strongly either. He had always silently wondered what the inside of her house looked like; that modest log cabin with the tin roof and stone chimney that she tended to so earnestly. The first night they had invited him to stay for supper, he lingered in their family room, hat in hand, admiring the shining rifle mounted above the fireplace and the framed photographs below it on the mantle. He lingered just a beat longer on their wedding photo front and centre.Ā
It wasnāt a surprise that she looked breathtaking in white, as sweet as a dove bathed in soft lace. George could only imagine what she would look like the day she married him. Would she wear the same dress? No, he would buy her a new oneā¦hire one of the ladies in town to sew one for her special so no one else in the world would have the same one.Ā
Maybe theyād have to use extra fabric to fit around the swell of her belly, her engorged breasts, swollen with his baby inside her. Admiring her childhood photos on the mantle only proved to him that they would have the most beautiful children together. A true blessing to the Earth. It was what nature decreed.Ā
She had been married to her husband for two years and they still had not had a child. How sad, George thought. There was no greater blessing than children. No greater honour of a man to plant natureās most precious seed in his partner, and no greater honour of a woman to grow his children for him. The fact that her husband had not yet begun the process to fill their ranch with babies was beyond him. Oh, she deserved so much more than him. She deserved someone who could worship her for all her worth and make her into the most perfect mother the land had ever bore witness to.Ā
George knew it was his destiny to be that person.Ā
Without an ounce of hesitation, he snagged a small picture frame off the corner of the mantle, one that housed a pretty portrait of her, and he slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket for safe keeping. It had been tucked behind some other frame, a thin layer of dust along the wood, it wouldn't be missed. He had much more of a use for it; he would put it front and centre on his own mantle and worship her like she so deserved.Ā
Over dinner, he sat across from her like they were on a date, hardly paying any mind to her husband who sat at the head of the table between them. The three of them conversed with ease like old friends, sharing tales and memories, and George managed to crack a few jokes that had her giggling into her water glass. He could have bottled up her laugh and sold it for a pretty penny, he was sure. What a glorious sound.Ā
While her husband helped himself to the parlour after dinner to smoke his pipe and have a drink, George offered to help clear the table and wash the dishes. She was very appreciative. He would have done anything for her. They shared the time side by side at the sink while she washed and he dried, bathed in the dim light of the kitchen, talking and laughing. It felt immensely domestic. Sharing household chores, something as mundane as washing dishes, and yet, with her, it was enjoyable. It was how he wanted every day of the rest of his life to end: to be well fed, in a warm house, perhaps a few babies asleep down the hall, and sharing a quiet moment just the two of them.Ā
He couldn't dream of leaving her to clean up all on her own, not like her husband who smoked away in the parlour and left her to it. In reality, he wasn't a bad guy, but he just wasn't what she deserved. He couldn't give her the world; not like George could.Ā
It was a real tragedy when her husband died in a freak farming accident a mere fortnight laterākicked in the head by his own bucking horse, lights out in a split second.
George had seen it firsthand. The two of them had gone out to corral the cattle when the horse spooked over a gust of wind as the man stooped for a drink from the stream. The steed went mad, thrashing and kicking, and to keep from being bucked off his own horse, George had no choice but to shoot it between the eyes in a fit of desperation. Man and steed, dead on the riverbank.
The townsfolk were startled when George rode back into town with the gangly man draped, lifeless, over his back, limp arms swaying with every trot. He explained his story to the crowd who took pity on him and that poor cityman who had simply been in over his head out here. It was survival of the fittest out on the plains. George simply knew how to survive better than most.Ā
George was the one to break the news to his beloved, hat clutched to his chest, words solemn. He watched his prairie rose wilt before his eyes, drooped by grief. And she collapsed into him for comfort and he held her while she cried, stroking her hair and soothing her tenderly.
āShh, Iām here. Everything is going to be okay. Iām not going anywhere.ā
Of course, he kept to his promise. He wasnāt going to leave her alone. Especially not since her husband passed and she was all alone on that ranch of theirs, left to tend to it all by herself. George did what any decent man would: he stepped up. He owed it to herāto himselfāto be there, to support her in any way he could. Not just as a man, but as someone who had been there in her darkest hour, who had witnessed what she lost. She was his responsibility now. His to look after.
He helped her daily, tending to her acreage and livestock, and once she felt ready, he began showing her the ropesāthe quiet necessities of managing land, the things her husband used to handle. She was a quick study, eager even, and he liked that. It gave her purpose again, steadied her hands, and he could tell she trusted him. Some day, he was sure, this land would be theirs, and they would tend to it with the pride of partnership. They were already sowing the seeds of such a future; the unspoken understanding between them, every fleeting smile under the brim of her hat, every brush of his callused hand against her soft fingers as he showed her how to hold a tool. Each moment proof enough that words werenāt needed. Words might spoil something so delicate. He knew it was real. She would know when the time was right.
There was no finer feeling than when she joined him to herd the cattle from pasture, tucked close against his back, dainty arms looped around his middle, holding onto him with a trust that went straight to his chest. That evening, when he returned home to the silence of his property, the thought of her lingered like perfume. He could still feel her hands on him, gripping him tight, feel the tickle of her hair against his neck and the scent of her against his flannel. It was maddening.
He stared at her framed portrait and took his hand to himself, stroking his cock in furious pumps as he imagined her beautiful body laid out before him. How she'd moan for him, cry his name, feeling her panted breath against his face and her hands scraping down his back. What he wouldn't give to unravel his beautiful prairie rose petal by petal, to see her bare, to bury himself inside her until their souls intertwined. Until he could plant a seed in her womb and watch it grow.Ā
George came with a hitch of his breath and a strangled groan, spilling into the small shot glass in his left hand with careful aim. To not lose a single drop.Ā
She had no idea what was in his homemade cherry pie that made it so deliciousāit was certainly nothing that his granny had left in her worn recipe book. But watching his sweet prairie rose indulge in a slice when he brought her another fresh baked pie the very next afternoon made his heart race, made that fire off possession flare within him. She'd take a piece of him inside her and she wouldn't even know. He was sure, however, deep down, something in her would feel it. Something in her would know.
He wanted to know every bit of her; her ins and her outs, how she carried herself when no one was watching. And maybe a part of him was protective too. Maybe a part of him worried about her all alone on that ranch, all alone in that house once the sun went down. George wouldnāt be able to live with himself if something happened to her during the night when they were apart. She was his responsibility, after all.Ā
So, on certain nights where the darkness crept over the mountains and settled a bit too heavily across the plains, he would make the short trek across his property and onto hers. Knowing the land like the back of his hand, George didnāt need a torch for guidance, and he crept carefully along the side of her house. A perimeter check. He never told her this was what he was doingāhe didnāt want to embarrass her or make her feel as if he saw her as something fragile and unable to carry herselfābut he took it upon himself anyway.Ā
And, sometimes, during these checks, while making sure her property was clear, he would find himself outside her bedroom window, masked by the cover of sparse trees or shrubbery and concealed in the shadows of the nighttime. Her lamp would be on, causing the scene of her bedroom to appear like a glowing scene of framed artwork; her in her nightgown as the subject, front and center. In her blush pink silken nightgown, hair tucked up in matching rollers, his prairie rose went about her night routines without a concern that her drapery was open wide.
Perhaps she figured her property was large enough that it didnāt matter. Perhaps she simply forgot to pull them closed. Or, more likely, George thought, was that she knew he was out there and so she kept her drapes open purposefully.Ā
George found himself there often, leaning against a tree, keeping his nightly vigil in the shadows just out of reach of the warm light that spilled through the window. He would watch her tie up her hair into rollers at her vanity or apply lotion to her smooth legs at the side of her bed or, if he timed it right, he would catch her changing, dropping her towel in exchange for her nightgown. Her body was a vision in the nude; natural and feminine.Ā
She bore such perfect hips for childbearing with a bosom so round and full and just made for a babe to latch onto those small, pink nipples. George would stare at her with awe in his eyes, taking in every inch of her beautiful body that was carved for motherhood, carved for his hands to possess. From the precise angles of her collarbones down every divot of her spine to the curve of her rear and the full tuft of hair nestled between her slender legs. A perfect man-made woman.Ā
Bless the land for bestowing upon him such a gift as divine as she.Ā
His prairie rose. How he craved to nestle between her petals and inhale the scent of her beauty.Ā
He told himself he was only checking in on her, that she was safe and sound in her home. But he never left until the lamp went dark.
The silly woman kept her back door unlocked at night, George soon came to realize. Did she not know the dangers that could lurk in the darkness of the mountains? It was clear that his perimeter checks were not enough; he was going to have to keep an eye inside her home too some nights. He never minded. Heād do anything to keep her safe.Ā
What started as a once a week ritual soon occurred twice a weekā¦then thrice. It was routine for George to tiptoe up her back porch steps and cautiously turn the handle of her unlocked backdoor and slip inside, knowing just which kitchen floorboards to skip over on his silent skim through the homestead. There was something comforting about being in her space in such circumstances; nothing performative or fake. It was real and true and honest. She couldnāt hide anything from him. Her trust was immense.Ā
After all, why else would she leave her back door unlocked? She was practically inviting him in.Ā
His fingers traced the spines of her books on her bookshelves in the living room, creased and well worn, and he fingered through the pages of the bookmarked novel that was left on her coffee table.
The glass bottle of her perfume was heavy in his hands as he sprayed it onto his wrist to inhale her floral scent in the darkness of her bathroom, letting the scent linger as he took it upon himself to straighten the tubes of her makeup and bottles of medicine in the cabinet above the sink.Ā
And her pearls and diamonds winked up at him from her jewelry box in the corner of her bedroom, precious items for his precious girl, and he took a mental list of what she liked, just to know where he could help fill some empty spots when the time came.
But, as interesting as her house was, there was nothing that compared to the sight of her, fast asleep, curled up on the right side of her bed and tucked neatly under her quilt. The vacant left side of her bed did not go unnoticed by himāthe empty space her husband once occupiedāand his heart tugged with the desire to climb under the sheets to join her, to claim the spot as his own, to warm the cold mattress and draw her under his arm protectively, lovingly. Instead, he stayed put, resting back against her dresser, watching, admiring, yearning. Through the quiet he could almost hear her breathing, a rhythm heād learned to measure his nights by.
George dared not overstay his welcome and so once he was satisfied she was safe, he left her home just as heād found it, certain sheād dream sweeter for it. But, as he turned for her bedroom door on silent footsteps, he noticed her laundry hamper peeking out from behind her door.Ā
It was full after a busy few days where household chores seemed to get away from her, rumpled clothes stuffed in a pile within, desperately awaiting a wash. George hesitated, eyes flicking between the full hamper and her sleeping form across the room. Her back was to him, as if that meant anything, and so he stepped forward and let his fingertips ghost over the clothing, exploring.Ā
As if by accident or by fate, his finger hooked on a mere scrap of fabric, small and soft, something that would fit in his palm and keep the scent of her for nights when the fields felt endless. He folded it with a tenderness that would have made saints weep, tucked it into the pocket of his jeans, and told himself, once more, that it was meant to be this way. It was proof of their connection, a souvenir that represented how she belonged to him; something for only him to touch.Ā
George held the composure of a general; waiting until he was safely in the confines of his own home to pull the fabric from his pocket once more. There, in the light of his bedroom, he stared at the lace trim of her soft panties he held in his hands, how the lamp seemed to backlight them like they were holy. If he thought hard enough, he could have sworn they were still warm from her body.Ā
He slid his fingers down the fabric as if he were analyzing a scroll, pulling the fabric taut and angling it into the light to see the faint discolouration of the fabric right where it would be nestled against her beautiful flower. So natural, so real. George smoothly drew the panties to his face and shut his eyes as he inhaled deeply through his nose. The sweet, faint, mouth-watering musk of her grazed his senses. Human, real, a trace of closeness that lingered on the fabric. His blood rushed through his ears.Ā
Movement came by instinct; stripping out of his clothes and lying back on his mattress as if he were preparing to bed her right in that moment. He could picture her there, her naked body in the dim lighting of his bedroom, looking so right in his space, staring at him with those beautiful eyes that begged and begged without words. The feeling of his fist around his cock, he knew, would feel so much more pleasurable if it were her hand instead, finger donning a little diamond ring inscribed with his name, strokes dainty and sweet and careful.Ā
George doubted that her husband showed her how to properly engage in such acts. He would likely have to show her himself, to teach her how to touch and pleasure a man properly, how to submit to him like a good girl, a good wife. To give but, also, to take. To take and take and take. It was clear she was a quick study out on the ranch; he had no doubt that would carry over into the bedroom.Ā
With her panties bunched in his fist, he raised them to his face again and closed his eyes, nestling his nose in the fabric, breathing her in while he pleasured himself. He could almost imagine her right there with him, the scent of her arousal clinging to her skin, to his, the fading remnants of her perfume lingering in the air with every passionate movement.Ā
Georgeās expression furrowed behind the firm pumps of his hand on himself, eyes still screwed shut, knuckles turning white with how tightly he held her panties to his face until he was almost smothering himself. All he could think about was her; his prairie rose. What sheād feel like perfectly bare against his skin, what sounds sheād make as he fucked into her, what sheād look like when he released deep inside her fertile womb.Ā
It wasnāt going to be long until he had her, he knew.Ā
As much as he didnāt want to break away from her scent, George pulled her panties away from his face to hold them down over the head of his cock, shuddering at the graze of the fabric against his sensitive skin. His fist pumped faster, needy and urgent, red hot lust pulsing through his veins and nothing but the thought of her clouding his senses.Ā
He came with a strangled groan, spilling himself onto the fabric of her panties, covering the worn crotch of them in thick ribbons of white. It was nothing short of symbolic; the closest they had been to joining themselves together in such intimate ways. In his come down, he stared at the glistening creaminess of his own pleasure streaked across the discoloured crotch of the worn lace fabric and he turned it into the light to stare some more. Them, together, how it should be.Ā
George found her on her front porch steps the next day, face shadowed by her hat and the heel of her boot tapping restlessly against the bottom step. When he approached, she stood up quickly and strode to meet him, unmissable distress across her face, and he steadied her with his hands on her biceps, thumbs stroking over her plaid shirt as he asked her what was the matter.Ā
She confided in him that something had happened the night before and she was so terrified. That she woke up in the morning to the roosterās crow only to find a pair of her worn panties on the pillow beside her, stained in a manās semen. Someone had come into her house while she was sleeping and violated her in her most vulnerable state.Ā
She was beside herself, falling into Georgeās open arms and letting him hold her as she let out her panic into his comforting embrace. He allowed himself to press a lingering kiss to her temple, right under where her hat rested. The simple action had her melting closer to him, her trust in him unmistakable. He would never take it for granted, swearing to her as he held her close,
He knew it was time. She trusted him, and that only sealed their bond. He had to break her in, to show her who she belonged to, to claim her properly like he knew she wanted.Ā
And so the next night, when he climbed her porch steps and silently turned the knob of her back door and slipped into the darkened house without a single creak of a floorboard, he knew what he had to do. Her bedroom door was left half open just as it always was and he lingered in the doorway for just a moment, watching her sleep. Peaceful, angelic. He was already half-hard with anticipation.Ā
Without tearing his eyes away from her sweet face, George unbuckled his belt and popped the button on his jeans, moving slowly so as to not make too much noise. She stirred a little but did not wake. He silently set his jeans and belt, neatly folded, on her dresser. His shirt came off next, joining the pile. Shoes were set aside, socks tucked within.Ā
Left in only his briefs, he lingered there, across the room, taking in the shape of her body under her quilt. His hand dropped down to rub himself over the front of his underwear. It felt as if his nerve endings were at attention, sensitive and burning. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip without tearing his eyes away from her.Ā
Only once he was properly hard did he drop his briefs, added them to his folded pile of clothes, and then tiptoed across her bedroom floor. The hardwood was cold on his bare feet as he drew closer until his body blocked the light of the moon through the window, casting his looming shadow over her body and the vacant side of her bed that was just for him. George pulled the quilt back slowly and then slipped into bed with her.Ā
The dip of the mattress and the rustle of the sheets as he moved closer roused her just enough to let out a sleepy, confused hum. Her eyes fluttered open and the shape of another figure in her bed caused her to gasp.
His hand touched her arm and he soothed her with a soft, āShh, itās just me.ā
āGeorge?ā she spoke through the dark, her voice small.
āYeah, love. Itās alright. Youāre alright.ā George cooed as he shuffled closer, delicate fingers trailing down her side underneath the quilt, following the line of her figure and curves of her body.Ā
āWhatā¦What are you doing here? How did youāā her words were still thick with sleep, her brain struggling to process what was happening. It was cute, really, almost like she thought this was a dream.Ā
George leaned in to press a lingering kiss to her cheek before answering, āYou left your back door open, my darling. Just inviting any troublesome men to come in here and have their way with you if you werenāt careful. Itās okay. Iāve been keeping watch for you, making sure no one would lay a hand on my pretty girl.ā
She moved quickly, starting to get up, to put more space between them, but his arm slid around her waist and he pulled her closer until they were chest to chest. Her shaky breath fell against his cheek. Again, she squirmed, trying to get out of bed, enough that George had to grab her tightly and yank her back down, pressing her flat onto her back by her shoulders as he got on top of her. He didnāt want to use such force with her but she wasnāt giving him much of a choice.
āDonāt fight against what you want,ā George tutted.
Her breath caught when she realized he was naked, wide eyes staring up at him through the darkened bedroom, āI donātāā
āOh, but you do, darling,ā he purred.
With her beautiful body trapped beneath him, pinned down by how he straddled her thighs, quilt forgotten down at the foot of the bed, George was buzzing. She was a feast laid out before him. All he could do was start to pull up the bottom of her nightgown, shoving away her hands as she tried to stop him.
āStop. George, stop.ā her voice was sweet, a little shaky with nervousness, āWhat are you doing?ā
āShh, darling, shhh,ā George gathered both of her dainty wrists in one hand and pinned them to the pillow above her head. He was easily stronger than her and thus easily overpowering, as a proper man should be. Masculine. As much as she writhed and squirmed underneath him, he wasnāt deterred.Ā
When he managed to get her nightgown up around her waist, he was privy to the sight of her bare legs, her round hips, and that perfect mound of soft hair nestled between her thighs. She wasnāt wearing panties under her nightgown. It was like she knew he was coming. Like she was asking for it.
āOh, my love,ā George slipped his thumb between her legs, sliding it through the hair and down between her folds, feeling the damp heat of her body, all for him. She flinched and thrashed and he tightened his grip on her wrists, squeezing her thighs with his to keep her in place. Unwavering, he spoke down to her sweetly, āYouāre already a little wet for me, aren't you?ā
She choked out a meek, pleading, āPlease, George.ā
āYeah?ā he purred, shoving up her nightgown some more until her breasts were revealed to his hungry eyes and he pinched one pretty pink nipple and then the other, āGod, you are divine, baby.ā
āPlease, not like this,ā she bartered desperately, hands straining where he held them pinned, āMaybe we can go and have dinner first or something? Just not now.ā
āWe have the rest of our lives for that, my love. The rest of time.ā George slipped his hand into the tight clench of her thighs, fingers finding her cunt and feeling her out, āJust gotta take whatās mine first. I know you can be a good girl for me.ā
She tried to squirm some more, legs trying to kick out from under his body weight, really making him work for it. Her fierceness was one of the things he loved best about her; how she always thought she knew best, even when she didnāt. It was like dealing with a stubborn steed, really. Just had to break it in, make it understand who was in charge.Ā
George used both hands to gather her wrists now, pinning her down strongly, speaking right to her face in warning, āItās going to hurt if you keep fighting me.ā
āPlease!ā she begged.Ā
Did she know that the sound of her voice begging like that was turning him on more? The shimmer of her eyesā¦the flush of her cheeks. He loved the chase. He loved working for his reward.Ā
Years of working the plains earned him the strength to move her around like she was a bale of hay, manhandling her over onto her stomach with her hands pinned together behind her back and her face in her pillow. He had wanted to look at her face when he joined his body with hers, but this would have to do. They would have plenty more opportunities. Hundreds and hundreds more, he was sure.Ā
She cried out into her pillow, almost as if she had given up her fight, as if she was submitting to his control.Ā
āShh, shh, shh,ā he hushed softly, angling the head of his cock between her thighs with his free hand, āThatās my girl. Thatās more like it.ā
The squeeze of her cunt was tighter than he had anticipated. Maybe that came from the way her legs were still snugly side by side, giving him only a tiny gap to sink into. Even still, his eyes fucking rolled the second he pressed inside her, her muscles squeezing the life from the swollen head of his cock, just sucking him right in until all he could do was sink deeper.Ā
āOh fuck,ā he gasped, leaning over her a little with a hand on the back of her neck, holding her right down against the mattress. Once his pelvis was pressed flush against the perfect curve of her ass, he paused, letting himself take in the incredible grip of her cunt, the hot confines that just squeezed the life out of him. She was better than any fantasy. She was made for him.Ā
She let out a little squeak, her hands bunching into fists behind her back where he held her in place, and her body instinctively squirmed underneath him. The way she moved had him moaning, forcing his cock deeper, simply proof that she wanted it, she wanted more. And so he pulled out halfway before shoving back into her again. And again. And again.
The pillow that her face was buried in absorbed her whimpers as he found a steady pace, thrusting into her nice and deep but modest in speed. He wanted to make it last. He wanted to enjoy every bit of her.Ā
She was so warm and wet, taking him so well, every inch. It felt like she was only getting wetter with every thrust, her hips wriggling and lifting from the mattress as if she wanted more of him. She was taking it so well too, every inch, letting him spit her open like this without a complaint. God, she wanted him so bad. She was just as needy for him as he was for her, that was clear.Ā
And then, after one particularly deep thrust, she choked out a tiny, āOwāā
āIt hurts?ā George cooed without letting up, speaking through the slick clap of skin on skin that filled her bedroom, āAsk me to stop, then. Say āpleaseā.ā
There was a pause as if she were getting her wits about her and then she muttered out a small, meek, āPlease.ā
Georgeās cock throbbed at the sound of her voice and he couldnāt help the way his hips jumped at the pathetic little sound.Ā
āGod, yeah, just like that.ā he groaned, his body forcing him to fuck into her a little faster and she just whimpered out a sob in response. He pressed her harder into the mattress, āOh, are you crying? I knowā¦itās too much, my darling. Itās so big. I knowā¦itās okay.āĀ
His comfort had her melting into the pillow, dampening the fabric with her tears and sniffles.
George was dizzy. It was heaven. She was heaven. Her tears were so beautiful, her sobs so delicate, crying for him.Ā
He panted out a strained, āKeep going, Iām close.āĀ
The metal bedframe thudded against the wall with every thrust, the mattress creaking beneath them as he held her down and took what was his. In what was to be their marital bed, where these same sounds would bless his ears for the rest of their lives, they consummated their bond, together. How many times would he have her crying on his cock just like this? How many breakfasts would he bring for her in the mornings after? How many babies would they make in that bed?Ā
Well, they could at least start with one.Ā
George came inside her with a tight groan, shoving as deep as he could go so she could take everything he gave her. His body shuddered through the intensity of his orgasm, tight hands still holding her down into the mattress as he ground into her to milk himself of every drop. He wondered if she could feel him at her cervix, feel his cum leaking into her womb, knowing that it would take and sheād be bred and full in no time.Ā
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.Ā
In the afterglow, he stayed and held her. He soothed her with kisses over her flushed skin and soft caresses of his hands on her body as he pulled down her nightgown into place. Her double bed now filled again by two, like it was meant to be.Ā
George sighed, content and sated, and spoke his confession to her in a sweet whisper, āArenāt you glad I got rid of that pathetic husband of yours? I saved you. Now we can be together for the rest of our lives.ā
She was quiet. Her body was trembling in his arms.Ā
āI love you,ā George breathed, āYouāre going to be such an incredible motherā¦my beautiful wifeā¦my precious, delicate, prairie roseā¦ā
She was pregnant by the turn of the seasons.
There was a sense of pride in that for George; that they were both so fertile, so meant to be, that one time was all it took. To him, it was proof that fate had chosen them.
She told him over dinner one night, her head bowed, voice flat. Her monthlies were late. Sheād been sick that morning. The way she said it, without joy or fear, just a simple truth, was a cold breeze through the light of the fireplace. George didnāt shiver.Ā
Instead, he leapt to his feet, grinning from ear to ear, and gathered her into his arms for a moment. Kneeling beside her chair, he pressed his palms over her stomach through the soft fabric of her blouse, his glee filling the quiet room. She didnāt react, didnāt smile, her hands still resting in her lap. Her plate had gone cold.
She didnāt speak much to him at all anymore. That was okay; it was clear she had just been trying to woo him before, talking his ear off just to get his attention. Well now she had it for good. For life.Ā
He moved into her house not long after that night, bringing over bits from his ranch here and thereāhis boots by the door, his tools in the shed, his scent clinging to the sheets. Each thing he brought made it more his. More theirs.
Heād told the townsfolk they were engaged. He had let it slip in the feed store and then confirmed it again at Sunday service. It wasnāt exactly a lie. What else could people believe now? For them to separate after it being known they had been intimate would have ruined her name, dragged it through the mud. George couldnāt let that happen. He was doing what was right. What any good man would do.
Because his prairie rose was pregnant and they were to have a baby together. It was a dream come true that George could hardly fathom.Ā
When he held her at night, whispering how heād protect her and their baby, he never noticed how still she lay, how her breaths came shallow. To him, that silence was love.
It was a sunny afternoon when George returned from a few errands in town. He had left her home so she could keep her feet up, as he insisted she not over exert herself. She was only a few weeks pregnant now and they couldnāt be too careful. He treated her like glass.Ā
Except, as he stepped out of his truck on the property, the sound of the screen door slamming open was hardly the gentle welcome he had anticipated. He glanced over to see her still in her nightgown on the front porch, hair coming free from her curlers, with a lit cigarette between her lips. She looked exhausted, eyes red-rimmed and sunken with dark circles against her unusually pasty complexion, but her expression was as hard as steel and her hands were surprisingly still as she held the hunting rifle in her surefire grip.Ā
Before either of them could utter a word, his attention was drawn down her body to the angry red that stained her white nightgown and trickled down the inside of her leg. She didnāt seem bothered. Like she knew it was there.Ā
She cocked the rifle.Ā
And then suddenly the barrel was pointed right at him.
George had always thought her first husband hadnāt done right by herāhadnāt shown her what it meant to be a good wife, hadnāt known how to lead a woman properly. But as he stood there, a few yards back from the porch, staring at her wielding her late husbandās rifle, he suddenly recalled the one thing the useless man had in fact taught her.Ā
He had taught her how to hunt.
And his delicate prairie rose was a perfect shot.
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Tear gas agr me PM hota to sidha firing karvate ese anti-national hizado par aur sabse pehle teri ma chudvata mullo se bhadvi tere jesi randiyo ki vajah se hi India me etne anti-national log hai jakar apna dhandha kar le kothe ki randi gyan mat pel hizadi
idk what any of this means and also forgot to disable anons asks.
