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despite your age, older than the maidens who've finally grown out of their sister's skirts, your family's lack of wealth meant your father had to make a few underhanded business deals before you could afford pretty dresses.
but now you're flirting at the ball like the rest of them, trussed up in ribbons like frosting and dancing an inch too close to lord price. an absolute bear of a man, a decade older with a body so opposite the men around him. no leisurely feasts or overindulgence here -- lord price is as sharp as a hawk.
maybe that's why you say it.
"it's a wonder you haven't found a wife yet, my lord. surely you have ladies prostrating themselves at your feet." his hand on your back pulls you closer, chest to chest, despite the space between partners currently required by the dance you're dancing. "are you offering for the role, my lady?" he asks, a twinkle in his eye.
"well, i wouldn't be opposed." you reply, demurely. successfully. now that you've practically peacocked yourself, maybe you'll take a walk tomorrow or visit the opera-
except when he guides you to the gardens, there's a horse waiting. the moon flies and the stars glimmer and suddenly you're sitting astride on your way to gretna green, a three hours ride away. the closest place for you to be legally married before morn.
"my lord, this is not what i meant!"
"why waste time?"
the one thing you can't complain about are your new wifely duties. to sit there and take it while he splits you open on two fingers, in the biggest room the traveler's inn had open. lord price john has been divested of his money quicker than you predicted, what with bribing the blacksmith to marry you after nightfall and paying extra for the biggest room the inn had. it's all worth it now as he growls over you, panting fiercely while you kick at his back, overwhelmed by the intrusion of his fingers.
"my lord, i-"
"john, wife. best call me john while i've got you whining on my fingers." he's so crude, so unlordlike as the fur of his chest brushes against your naked tits. the friction is unbearable and you keen further as he finds a sensitive spot so deep within you, you didn't know it existed. "john, i- what's happening..." you trail off as the space below your belly throbs harder, the slick sounds of your wetness thwapping against his hand.
"let it happen, sweetheart." you relax slightly under the conviction in his words. like he has knowledge about everything in the world. "that's it, there's a girl. come for me, just relax now." something clicks and you fade out of time for a moment, your body singing like a wind chime.
when you come to next, it's face down on the bed. he tucks the pillow under the pudge of your stomach, arching your back in the air as he practically smothers you like the beast he is. "john?" he's all around you and yet you can't see his face and you think it might be a dream. "where are you?" a massive hand finds yours and tangles with it, at the same moment something thick taps at your entrance.
"ah, oh..." you moan as he pushes in further, letting you do none of the work as he lays his weight on yours. his face finds the crook of your neck and he pants harshly, murmuring curses under his breath. his free hand finds those nerves hidden by the pillow. a callused palm presses hard and you gasp as he rocks further into you, smothering you between his cock (the word, you've heard, passing pubs on your rare nights out) and flattened hand.
"such a sweet wife, waitin' for me to find you." he grunts nonsensically, and you don't remind him you come from money so new it's still warm from being minted. that he's the first titled man you've ever spoken to, upgraded from your station so violently it was like being yanked by the ear. instead you push back and take it, your core rocking with every thrust as the pleasure builds and builds. or maybe it's his words that get you to the brink of it.
"take instructions so well. this cunt made for me?"
"we're makin' a babe now, sweetheart."
"won't stop until we've got a litter of 'em."
you clench at that and he pinches that bundle of nerves and you're sent over a cliff, careening towards a death made of pleasure. you bite the sheets under you as he thrusts once, twice, until warmth fills you like honey spilling from your fingertips. he stays there a while, stroking your sides as his cock softens within you. only after you yawn does he slip out.
and suddenly you're empty, whining for him. "here, pet." his thumb pushes his spend in until you imagine it taking, nearly rubbing it into your walls. "not movin' for an hour, you hear?" you nod at his words, already exhausted from your day.
a wet cloth wipes your upper thighs, but doesn't touch the spend that drips out. you like it better that way, quite content with your new husband. countess has a nice ring to it.