His Captive

By: Cassandra Dee

So with my mug of tea in hand, I settle on the plush, comfy couch and retrieve my favorite romance novel from the side table.

Hey, a girl can dream, right?

I don’t get out much, but it sure is nice to live vicariously through the words an author etches on a page. No matter how temporary the escape.

The pages of this particular paperback are worn and tattered from the numerous times I’ve devoured the story.

Finding the dog-eared mark near the middle of the book, I sink lower into the couch cushion and pick up where I left off. Yep, this is me. This is me, Anna Jones, small-time secretary in a small-time town, finishing off another week with a book in hand and a mug of tea.

Nothing to report, nothing exciting, but it’s my life, and it’s not bad. I wish something were different for sure, but how? After all, I’m just me and it seems impossible to make a change. With my parents dead and my only sister a dependent, there aren’t many options. It’s not like Prince Charming’s beating down my door, looking for a kiss.

So with another sigh, I burrow into the couch and flip to my favorite chapter. Oh yeah, here it is, where Lucy meets her paramour. Paramour, what a funny word. Why don’t they just say “date” or “hot guy”? But these Scottish highland romances are always like this. The guys always wear kilts and have long hair, flowing with the wind. The girls are always tiny things, wearing long, elaborate ball gowns except when they’re in sheer, see-through nighties.

But none of that matters because the best part’s still coming. Because yeah, these guys always have huge dicks. For some reason, Scottish lairds are always about six five, with broad shoulders and monstrous cocks, and my insides begin to moisten, eyes traveling the words, cares forgotten. Oh yeah, this is good. This is yummy. This is where the heroine sighs, gasps, and then rides that stiff cock for the first time, screaming and cussing, crying out his name, something along the lines of “Donegal, Donegal!”

Don’t ask me about the funny names, but does it really matter? Because with a tall, dominating alpha male, I wouldn’t care what he was called. I wouldn’t care if he wanted to fuck me backwards, forwards, on the side, or upside down. I’d be happy as long as … well, you know. Down below, I want him to be massively huge.

So with a secret smile on my face, I let go for the first time all day, my hand creeping down to my pussy, stroking those soft folds. Unnnh, oh fuck it’s good, and my puss juices wetly. Shit, I always have so much cream, and struggling out of my panties, I looked down at myself. Sure enough, my slit’s already bright pink, lips puffy and full, beginning to drip.

Might as well go with it. Leaning back on the couch again, I tease myself, legs spread as my eyes flutter shut. Unnnh, Donegal, Donegal. Yes, Daddy, give it to me. Yes, Daddy take me, feed me that cock, stuff me full. Because the truth is, I’ve never been with a man, but it’s coming for sure. There’s a guy out there who’s ready to fuck me, who’s ready to take a curvy virgin, it’s just a matter of time.

So what if I’m home alone on another Friday night, masturbating to a dirty romance? So what if I’m reading books, letting an imaginary alpha taste my insides? Because it’s right around the corner. I know the man of my dreams is coming and with a sigh, shudder and gasp, I give in. My snatch creams wetly, spasming hard and I cry out once more, back arching off the sofa. Oh god yes. Come to me Daddy. Come to Anna … because I can’t wait any longer, my pussy needs you.



The next morning at 6 a.m., it was like a dream. Had I really passed out last night after orgasming a couple times? Had I really gotten completely naked in the living room, frigging my cunt again and again, dreaming of my Scottish highland lord?

But yeah, it’s true. Because I’m a dirty girl. I’d gotten super into it, spreading my legs wide, pussy dripping like a faucet as I touched where his dick would go. Oh god yeah, it’d been awesome. It’d been so amazing to see my puss spasm and clamp, clit waving stiffly in the air. There was even a stain on the sofa from my creaming cunt, I’d gushed so hard while screaming “Daddy, Daddy, fuck me, fuck me good!”

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