10. Elsie
ten
Elsie
The entire cabin gleams—from the freshly dusted bookshelves to the neatly arranged kitchen where jars of preserves from our first harvest stand in orderly rows. I sit back on my heels, surveying my work with quiet satisfaction.
Today marks two weeks since the spring festival, two weeks since Veronica's attempt to drive a wedge between Silas and me. Instead of dividing us, the experience only strengthened our bond, clarifying what we mean to each other beyond what others might see or understand.
Since then, I've thrown myself into making our cabin truly ours—not just a place where I live with Daddy Silas but a home we're building together. He's noticed my efforts, his approving glances and gentle touches acknowledging each improvement without words.
The sound of boots on the porch steps announces his return from checking the far boundary of our property. I rise quickly, smoothing down my dress—one of several he's ordered for me.
"Elsie?" His deep voice calls as the door opens.
"In here, Daddy!" I answer, eager for him to see my day's work.
My Daddy appears in the doorway, filling the frame with his broad shoulders, pine needles clinging to his flannel shirt from the forest path.
His eyes take in the polished floors and the arranged wildflowers on the table.
Then his gaze settles on me, warming in that way that makes my insides flutter.
"You've been busy," he observes, setting down his bag and walking stick. Or, as I like to call it, the cougar-defense stick. I even suggested he use it on Veronica, which made him laugh but also earned me a stern lesson on avoiding violence.
I nod, clasping my hands to keep from fidgeting under his assessment. "I wanted it to feel special. For us."
Silas crosses to me in three long strides, cupping my face in his work-roughened hands. "You've done beautifully, little one."
The praise flows through me like honey, sweet and warming. "Thank you, Daddy," I whisper, leaning into his touch.
His thumb traces my cheekbone, eyes darkening as they often do when I use that name. "You deserve a reward for working so hard," he says, his voice dropping to that register that immediately makes my panties wet.
"What kind of reward?" I ask though the heat building between us suggests the answer.
Instead of replying, he bends to capture my lips with his. The kiss starts gently but quickly deepens, his large hands sliding down to my waist to pull me against him. I melt into his embrace, my body responding to his touch with an eagerness that still sometimes surprises me.
When he finally breaks the kiss, we're both breathing harder. "First," he says, "a bath. I want to wash away your day's work and prepare you properly."
The deliberate care in his words makes my heart race. There's nothing hurried about how Daddy Silas loves me—each touch and moment is planned to maximize my pleasure and comfort. It's yet another way he shows his devotion to caring for all aspects of my well-being.
He leads me to the bathroom, where he sits on the edge of the tub to run the water, testing the temperature with careful precision.
I stand watching, struck once again by the contrasts that define him—the strength in his forearms as he rolls up his sleeves, the gentleness in adding lavender oil to the steaming water.
"Arms up," he instructs softly when the bath is ready.
I obey without hesitation, allowing him to undress me with reverent hands.
There's something profoundly intimate in these moments that is more vulnerable than the act of lovemaking itself.
The way his eyes travel over my naked body carries appreciation without objectification, desire tempered with tenderness.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, helping me into the warm water. "My perfect girl."
He begins to wash me with careful attention. His rough hands move the soft cloth over my shoulders, down my arms, across my collarbone. There's worship in his touch, a devotion that makes me feel simultaneously small and infinitely precious.
"You've made this cabin into a home," he says as he gently washes my back. "Something I never managed on my own, despite years of trying."
"We did it together," I counter softly. "Your strength, my details."
He smiles at that, nodding in acknowledgment of our complementary natures. "Together," he agrees. "The way it should be."
When his hands move lower, washing my breasts with careful attention, my breathing changes. He notices immediately, and his touch becomes more deliberate, thumbs circling my nipples until they harden beneath his touch.
"Daddy," I breathe, arching slightly into his hands.
"Patience, little one," he murmurs, though the deepening of his voice betrays him. "Let me care for you properly."
By the time he helps me from the bath, my skin is flushed with more than just the warm water. He wraps me in a large towel, drying me with the same careful attention he applies to everything involving me. When he's finished, he lifts me easily into his arms.
"My turn to show you how proud I am of my good girl," he says, carrying me to our bedroom.
Daddy sits me gently on the bed we now share every night, looking down at me with an expression that makes me feel like the most cherished little one in the whole world.
"You're everything I waited for," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "Everything I needed without knowing how to name it."
Then, to my surprise, he reaches into the pocket of his pants and pulls out a small wooden box. My breath catches as he kneels beside the bed, still fully clothed, while I'm wrapped only in the towel.
"Elsie," he says, his voice more solemn than I've ever heard it before, "I realized something at the festival.
When I introduced you as my wife, it wasn't just to fend off Veronica.
It was because, in my heart, that's who you are.
" He opens the box, revealing a delicate ring with a single pearl nestled in a silver setting.
"We came together through a mail-order bride service, but I've never properly asked you to be my bride. My wife."
Tears spring to my eyes as he continues, "You've given me your trust, vulnerability, and heart. You've called me your Daddy and given me purpose I never thought I'd find. Now, I'm asking if you'll also be my wife, in name and spirit."
"Yes," I whisper without hesitation, tears spilling down my cheeks. "Yes, Daddy. Yes, Silas."
He smiles as he takes the ring and slides it onto my finger. It fits perfectly, the pearl catching the golden light.
"I had it made in town," he explains softly. "The silversmith's wife helped choose the design. It’s not a diamond, but a pearl I found when diving in the Pacific Ocean a long time ago. I held onto it, knowing that I’d use it someday. It suits you."
"It's perfect," I say, staring at how it looks against my skin—delicate yet strong, like our bond. "You're perfect."
Daddy kisses me deeply, one hand tangling in my damp hair while the other traces patterns down my side.
When he breaks away, it's only to shed his clothes.
I watch the reveal of his body with appreciation that hasn't diminished since our first time together—the broad chest dusted with salt-and-pepper hair, the strong thighs, and his rock-hard cock that speaks to his desire for only me.
When Daddy returns to me, his weight pressing me into the mattress feels like security rather than confinement. His kisses travel from my lips to my neck, down to my breasts, where he lavishes attention that draws soft sounds from my throat.
"Tell me what you want," he encourages, looking up at me with eyes dark with desire. "What my good girl needs."
Another gift he's given me is the freedom to express my desires—the safety to voice needs I once kept hidden. "Your mouth," I whisper, heat rising in my cheeks. "Please, Daddy."
The endearment, coupled with my request, makes him groan softly.
He moves lower, pressing kisses down my stomach, his beard creating a delicious friction against my sensitive skin.
When he settles between my thighs, his large hands spreading me open and letting the cool air tickle my most sensitive place.
The first touch of his tongue sends electricity through my body.
He knows exactly how to please me now—where to apply pressure, when to ease back, and how to build my pleasure in waves rather than rushing toward completion.
Daddy uses the tip of his tongue, tracing circles around my clit, down to my asshole, and then back up again.
"So beautiful," he murmurs against my most intimate flesh. "So perfect for me."
The combination of physical sensation and tender praise builds something powerful within me. My hands grip the sheets as pleasure winds tighter and tighter at my core.
“Daddy,” I whimper.
Silas slides one finger into my pussy, gently pressing and stretching me so I’m ready for his thick cock. “You like it when Daddy touches your special place?”
“Mhm,” I can’t find words now, only moans. Everything feels so good.
"That's it," he encourages. "Let go for me, little one. Show me how good you feel. Let Daddy feel you come on his tongue."
The perfect pressure of his tongue against my clit sends me over the edge. Release washes through me in powerful waves, my body arching and my thighs closing around his head. He stays with me through it, gentling his touch but not stopping until the last tremors subside.
When I open my eyes, he's moved up to gather me against his chest, his expression one of tender pride. "Beautiful," he murmurs against my temple. "My good, beautiful girl."
I reach for him, wrapping my fingers around his hardness. "Please," I whisper. "I need all of you now. I need my husband."
The word, now carrying a new promise with the ring gleaming on my finger, makes his eyes glisten. He positions himself above me, supporting his weight on his hands. Our eyes lock as he enters me slowly, pushing his swollen cock head into my tight hole, then more and more, inch by inch.
"Perfect," he groans as his cock fills me. "You feel perfect, Elsie. My wife."
I gasp as his cock rubs against my cervix. The feeling of being stretched and filled by my Daddy is overwhelming. My toes curl as I wrap my legs around his waist. Even though we’re connected, it still doesn’t feel close enough.
“Daddy,” I whimper. “Daddy, it feels so good.”
"My good girl," he murmurs against my ear, his movements growing more intense as his control begins to slip. "My perfect little one. My bride."
The possessive tenderness in his voice pushes me toward a second climax. "Yours," I affirm, arching my hips forward to take him deeper, if it’s even possible. "All yours, Daddy."
My words break something in his restraint. His rhythm falters as he drives deeper, holding my ass firmly and pounding his cock into me. ”Fuck, Elsie. Fuck you’re so tight. You going to take all my come?”
“Yes, Daddy. I’m yours. I’ll be your good girl.”
“I know you will. Get ready for Daddy to come inside you.”
When he releases, the feeling of him pulsing inside me triggers my own orgasm, our pleasure intertwined as completely as our bodies. Each tremor makes our bodies rock until I’m filled up with my Daddy’s hot seed, sticky and messy.
Once we collapse onto the bed, he strokes my hair and cuddles me, lips pressing occasional kisses to my forehead, temple, and crown. The pearl on my finger catches the fading light as I rest my hand on his chest.
"I love you," he says into the quiet of our room. “You’re the perfect little girl.”
I trace patterns on his chest. "I love you too, Daddy."
As twilight deepens outside our window, we remain entwined—the mountain man and his mail-order bride, who found in each other exactly what we needed.
What began as a practical arrangement has transformed into something sacred and rare—a relationship that allows each of us to be more authentically ourselves rather than less.
"We should probably think about dinner," Silas says eventually, though he makes no move to release me.
“I want dino nuggies!” I giggle against his chest. "But, can we stay here for five more minutes?"
His chuckle rumbles beneath my ear. "Whatever my good girl wants," he agrees, tightening his arms around me.
In those five minutes—which stretch to ten, then twenty—I know that all that matters is that I’ve found the happily ever after that I never thought existed: My Daddy. My Silas. My husband. My home.