Polly
My toes are warm and pink, brushing against Jack’s shining black hooves. I switch from brushing to tapping.
Jack snores on. With a wince, I ease from his side and slide down to the end of our rumpled bed. I shall have to buy more sheets and must do ever such a lot of washing.
“What are you doing?” Jack asks, making me jump.
I feel momentary fear when he addresses me, but I’m coming to realize that I always jumped like that, inside. I rarely let it show, but whenever Mr. Bunson spoke to me, my entire body pulsed with fear. Would he throw me out? Tell me bad news? Mistreat me?
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Jack says softly, sitting up.
His arms curl around me, and his lips press kisses to my shoulder.
My heart fills up so fast that tears leak from my eyes as if there is no room left inside for the waves of emotion he gives me.
Two days of marriage have seen Jack’s possessiveness deepen, but also change. All of him has softened—at least toward me.
A thick, hard rod rests against my back and reminds me that there is one part of Jack that has hardened since our wedding night, and he has used it to turn me into the most whorish woman—at least for him. He makes me reach that hard throbbing peak again and again, until I beg him to bed me when he asks if I’m ready for more.
“, love?”
“I wanted to see your hooves better.” His love makes me bold. With a saucy pout I remind him, “This marriage has been a little uneven, Jack Springton. I believe that you have explored every inch of my body and been very selfish about what I’m allowed to see and touch.”
Jack laughs and pulls me back into his arms, back into our sheets, which we have barely left in two solid days. “That’s not true. I intend to explore several pieces far more thoroughly tonight.”
“Tonight? Are we actually going to stop and get dressed today?”
“I fear that we must. Humans are such weak little things, and my wife is a horrible nag. She keeps on about needing to get to the market and do the washing. I’ve told her that I can live on the juice of her sweet fruits alone, but she insists that I try something called ‘sausage and chips.’”
“And blood pudding,” I point out.
“Temptress.” Jack laughs and crosses his legs, one drawn up over his opposing knee as we lay back. “Take a good look, then.”
It’s not like an animal hoof—not quite. It’s black, shiny, and hard as I sit up and tap the surface. Oval shaped and long like a goat’s instead of rounded like a horse’s, but there’s no split in it. He’s not an animal, so I suppose it makes sense that there’s no match that I know of among the livestock I’ve seen.
“Careful!” Jack cautions as I run my hand along his hairy leg where it meets the hoof. “Here, at the back,” he flexes his foot and points to a spot at the back of the shining black bone, “is where my fire comes out.”
“Actual fire?” I ask.
“I don’t think it is, but it creates a flame-like substance. Whatever it is, you haven’t got a name for it that I know of. Scientists might call it a flammable chemical, something that reacts with the air.”
Jack speaks about the world as if he knows how it was made, talking about gases and invisible things we can’t see, but that he says are all around us.
I like this side of him, and I find it odd that I can lie against him, naked bodies touching, and listen to him talk, ask any question I like, and he teaches me, touches me... loves me. “You are such a dear, good husband,” I whisper, right in the middle of his explanation about oxygen and hydrogen (which are apparently right in this room with us, right now).
“What is good in your eyes, ? I’m puzzled about that at times,” Jack confesses, rolling easily on top of me. “You would seem to be the definition of good—caring, forgiving, gentle, helpful, hardworking... And yet people in this city would treat you poorly because of what bits of cloth you wear and where you sleep.”
Funny how a demon-like being sees all of humanity so much clearer than we do... “Good to me. Everything you have done since I’ve met you has not been what the law would call good, but it has been for my good. You stole meat for orphans. You stole dresses and fabric for children freezing away in Bunson’s Home. You killed several people, but each time, somehow it was connected to me, to protecting me?”
“There was that prostitute I killed. She looked very like you. I killed her to see if it would stop me wanting to eat you.”
I’m silent for a moment, trying to decide just how evil it is to kill someone to prevent one’s self from killing someone else. I bite my lip and put a hand against my head, stopping a sudden ache as I sigh. “I think I ought to thank you, but I wish you wouldn’t do that again.”
“I thought prostitutes were considered evil by humans.”
“Maybe they are. But maybe they were once just girls like me, put out in the streets with no references and no skills.”
“She was passing on bad ailments, from what I ascertained.”
“Well... I suppose you stopped disease from spreading, which is good. Oh, Jack.” I have to laugh at the strangeness of the life I’m now living, and at myself for how much I love it, how much I prefer it to my old one. “You are the finest of husbands. Of humans? I’m not sure.”
“Ah, but I’m not human. I don’t think a human would make you come like I do.”
I blush as he begins to suck one breast into his mouth while kneading the other. My legs part instinctively, slick, cum-filled slit ready for another pounding, my nub throbbing and ready just at the mere suggestion of pleasure. “I’m sure you’re right.”
Jack bites down hard, and I gasp and arch back, which only tugs my nipple harder into his mouth and sends a confusing spiral of pain and delight into my quim. “You’ll never find that out, will you, ? No human will ever fuck you now, do you understand? You’re mine. My wife. And this—” his cock plunges into my wetness, “is all for me.”
“Yes, ye-esss,” I agree in a breathless hiss.
Jack seems to be worried by the turn our conversation took, leaning back on his haunches and grabbing my hips so he can grind his long, thick cock against me as I whimper, suddenly filled and stretched so full.
“Your human men have nothing like this—and they won’t devour you as I will.” Another thrust, then he leaves me empty, changing position to fuck me with his tongue, working it inside of me while lights and bells go off in my head.
His clawed thumb is on my bud, working it up and down, flicking it and rubbing it as his tongue mimics his cock with shallow, swirling strokes.
“You’re the best, Jack. All I want,” I wail as he forces a hard, rapid peak from me.
“And you are all I want. All I will have.” Jack slips up my body again, dizzying me with his energy and speed. His cock invades my tunnel as it spasms in climax, soaking him and milking him as a torrent of wetness soaks my bum and thighs. “I haven’t claimed you as thoroughly as I’d like,” he hisses, cock leaving me and pressing down a bit lower.
I can only breathe out, eyes fluttering closed as he pushes his own slippery essence and the puddles of mine around my tight pucker to ease his passage.
Images that would make a vicar die of shame fill my mind from our last two days of coupling. The time he held me by the hair and his cock spurted deep in my throat. Moments later, he insisted I do the same to him, his mouth pressed over my sex while his fingers did something inside of me, pressing up and thrusting hard until I feared I had relieved myself in his mouth, but he told me it was simply a trick of pleasure to make a woman spend as a man can.
He has fucked me from behind, his fingers in my back passage, thrusting in time with his cock, the sensation of being filled in both holes at once enough to make me dizzy and my peak the most intense I’ve ever felt.
“Put your fingers in your quim and fuck yourself for me. You like when both holes are filled,” he purrs, pressing in, the head of his cock squeezing in past the tight ring.
“Jack...” I lick my lips and hesitate.
He doesn’t like that.
“It’s your body. Your own parts. Why am I allowed to touch you, but your own fingers aren’t?” he demands.
“Well... It’s not...” I can’t argue that it’s not proper, for I doubt anything we’ve done would be considered proper by most people.
“If you don’t do as I say, I shall say you are a disobedient wife and give you new orders as my housekeeper and my bride,” he threatens, but there is a glint of mirth in his eyes.
Still—I wouldn’t like to displease someone I love, especially if that person is as dangerous as my Jack.
“I will spread you wide on the dining room table and make you pleasure yourself until you’ve come three times while I watch. Would you like to give me such a show, ? I would like it. I might ask for it anyway, to watch your dainty little fingers trying to fill your cunt the way only my cock can. Watch your pretty cheeks flame bright red with exertion as I sit there, drinking my wine while you rub your bead. How will I ever stop from lapping you up between courses?”
The image he creates... I would be mortified. And yet, my guilty quim twitches at the thought of Jack’s cold, silent eyes watching me as I rub and pant, trying to peak, knowing he won’t let me stop until I’ve done what he asked.
My fingers push through my soft folds as he breaks down the tight squeezing ring of my hole, and several inches of his cock fill me at once.
“Oh!” One strangled bleat escapes me and gives my fingers urgent messages to rub my pearl until the pain stops.
“Squeeze on me, and you’ll feel better,” Jack says.
I try, and he’s wrong. “That didn’t help,” I whimper.
“Should I not?”
“No, stay!” I beg, wanting to get to the place where his cock feels as good as his fingers.
Jack leans over me, kissing me as his fingers and mine play in my soaking curls and sopping slit. Tangled together, we start thrusting in.
“Ooh, such a soft spot,” Jack praises. “You’re so divinely soft after I’ve pounded you. Tenderizing the meat.”
Knowing what he’s done—what he still could do, that wording is scarily accurate.
Suddenly, I can picture him between my legs, preparing to bite. To consume. I know he won’t hurt me, but dark and twisted desires fill us both now. I can imagine him eating my quim and all I would feel is pleasure.
“You do things to me, Jack,” I whisper, eyes closed. It’s easier to talk when I can’t see his face, his eyes studying me every second. “I long for all the things you give me. All the pleasure. The bits of pain. Being yours and doing what you say. All my life it has been a hard burden to bear, practically being someone’s slave... and now you are here, and I can’t stop craving your orders. You tell me to do such wicked things, and they feel so good.”
As I’ve been speaking, my body loosened and accepted his thick cock in my ass. Now, he’s pumping in and out, steady and slow, each time making me grunt and groan, too full, but loving the stretch and the very sinfulness of it.
When my eyes open, Jack is looking at me with raw hunger, a starving man spotting a meal.
My breath catches, but I’m not afraid. I’m only excited to see what comes next.