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Charity Series & His Forbidden Wards
(4 Short Stories)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.Copyright © 2017 by Rosie Zweet
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereofmay not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoeverwithout the express written permission of the publisherexcept for the use of brief quotations in a book review.First Edition: July, 2017
Author’s note: This work is only for ADULT.
All characters are 18+
** Individual pictured is model and used for illustrative purpose only
Charity and Villagers
Charity and the Villagers
Charity and Her Uncle
His Rebellious Ward
I walk with basket full of bread to Peter the Carpenter’s house. He is the father of my former maid, Molly. She made me promise to take care his aging father before she went to London to seek a better life.
I am singing softly as I walk through the village’s dusty road. Occasionally, I nod my head or have a small talk when I see someone I know.
Unlike my lofty Cousin Arabella, I know all these villagers by name. They are my friend, my real friend. I like them and they me.
As an orphan and poor relation, I know that I am just a little more than servant myself. My uncle, Lord Shaw, and my departed Aunt never cruel, or treat me less than what I deserve, of course, but I am not their daughter. They are not pampering me like Cousin Arabella.
I admit that I am little jealous of my beautiful cousin. At sixteen, she is only two years younger than me, but she has it all. She has light blonde hair, slender, graceful body and angelic face, and a foremost handsome fiancé who will marry her when she turns eighteen.
I am not saying that I am hideous. It is just I have wicked face and body, Molly often told me. Face and body of a courtesan. I am not sure what she meant by that, for I always live in the countryside and never saw the lady of the night.
I think it is related to my cherry full lips, cat eyes, big tits, and rounded bottom.
Without I realize, the sun is already high in the sky and Molly’s small cottage comes to view. I walk faster to its door and swiftly knock the wooden door.
Shortly, the door opens. And Peter’s wrinkled face greets me with a smile.
“Come in, Miss,” he says enthusiastically before he closes the door with a soft click.
“This is bread from the cook,” I say, putting the basket on the table. “How’s your health?”
“I’m good, Miss. But you know…”
I look at his poor face. I know his ailment. And after all this time, I wonder why he still so shy.
“Oh Peter… of course, I’ll help you. Just sit there and open your breeches,” I say with a kind smile.
He smiles in return, and swiftly sit down and pull out his troublesome cock. I glance down at his long and thick rod. It never ceases to amaze me that someone so old and frail like Peter has a cock that big. Its veined shaft and mushroom tip looks scary. I don’t tell him how it scares me, though. I know it is hard for him to open up to me like this.
I still remember how he tried to hide his ailment at first. Until at my third visit he finally confessed about his trouble and told me that Molly always takes care of his stiff, throbbing manhood.
I look at his bony face and hastily kneel in front of him, taking his erect manhood in my small hand. My hand is barely big enough to circle his thick girth.
But I try my best to milk him. I move my hand up and down his long, hot cock.
“Ah…” Peter starts to moan and breathing harsher.
At first, his cock spurting easily but lately it takes almost half an hour to make him finish and soft again. Sometimes, I have to resort to taking his rod in my mouth to make it faster.
Today, I don’t have much time. Arabella’s fiancé will come for dinner. And my uncle commands me to join them.
So, I lean closer, putting the tip of Peter’s big manhood in my mouth. And I swirl my tongue on it.
“Sweet Jesu,” I hear Peter mutters above me.
I glance up, looking at his old face. It is framed with graying brown hair. His head tilts up and his eyes are half closed.
Seeing his needy moan and taut face makes my cunt throbs. At first, I wonder why his ailment affects me so. But it must be contagious like a cold. I shift my legs, pressing my cunt tighter, easing the ache. But sometimes it is getting unbearable, and I have to rub it.
“Oh yes… Miss. Like that… Ahh…” Peter moans and his hips buck slightly.
Eager to make Peter finish faster, I stretch my mouth wider and take more of his manhood inside my mouth. And I move up and down, feeding myself with his large tool.
I hear Peter’s ragged breath is getting louder. He sounds like an animal, snorting, and grunting. Then, I see him pinching his eyes, calming his raging body.
Oh, this won’t do. I need to go home fast.
I release his manhood from my mouth with a loud pop.
“Oh Peter, I’m sorry but I have to go home fast today,” I say, apologetic.
I see his face fall. “Ah… of course, Miss…”
“Is there something I can do to make it faster?” I really want to help him. Maybe he knows how like he knows about putting his cock in my mouth to make it faster.
“Ahh… there is…but… ummm,” his eyes dart around. He seems afraid to say it aloud.
“Don’t be afraid. I won’t tell my uncle,” I say reassuringly. I know he is afraid of my uncle, the lord of the manor, the only titled gentleman around this area.
“You see, Miss,” his hand waving at his manhood. “My cock is too long and big for your mouth.”
I nod. Yes, I know that, I can only put half of his cock inside my mouth. I have tried to eat more but I can’t.
“I know where you can take all of me,” he pauses and locks my gaze. “But it’ll little hurt for you,” he adds fast.
“Did Molly do that for you, Peter?”
He smiles weakly. “Yes, Miss. That’s what she did.”
“Then, I have to do it too,” I say with conviction. I have promised to take care of him like his daughter did. “What should I do now?”
“Sit on that table, Miss,” he says as he stands and guides me to the table.
I hop and sit on its edge. Swiftly, he opens, spreading my legs.
“Peter,” I yell, stopping his hand.