Praise Me: Princess (Praise Me Daily)
Praise Me: Princess: Epilogue

Five Years Later

I often joke that I’m married to two women.

One is a prim and proper princess.

The other milks cows in ripped jeans with dirt streaks on her cheeks.

After I was given the divine honor of marrying my Greta five years ago, her belly started to swell with my son almost immediately. I was a beast during those nine months, snarling at everyone who dared to tax my girl in the slightest. But as time went on and she gave birth to Conrad Jr., I realized having a child made her a fiercer warrior than myself.

Thus, when we started spending more and more time at my farm, I relented in allowing her to take on some chores, such as feeding the animals, helping me plant crops and harvest them during the appropriate season. Oftentimes, she performed these tasks with our son strapped to her back and I would sit and marvel at the phenomenon I married.

My awe of Greta increases daily, as does my love. My devotion.

My hunger.

I stand on the porch of our farmhouse now as the sunset paints the sky red, watching her through the window, watching her buns flex in the tight red panties she’s wearing, her cropped sweatshirt showing off the small of her back and a single shoulder, that sexy indentation of her lower spine. Sometimes, like now, I need to get myself under control before returning home or she ends up with rug burns on her knees.

I take a deep breath and adjust my heavy cock, wondering how she’ll want it tonight. The kids are with their grandmother at the palace and there’s no holding back when we’re alone. I almost fucked her right here on the porch this morning because she kissed me goodbye a little too long and got my dick worked up. It’s been throbbing for her all day.

Unable to stop myself, I press my forehead to the glass and go back to watching my gorgeous wife, my hand twitching with the need to wrap all that golden hair around my fist, to feel her skin against mine, make her breathing pattern change. Scatter. I love her in gowns and frippery, but my God, I am obsessed with her in casual clothes, especially when she’s wearing so little of them, letting me see what’s mine.

Letting me see the fingertip bruises on her backside.

She bends over now to put something in the oven, and I press my bulge to the window frame, jerking my hips in agitation. I can’t always allow my obsession to show at the palace like this, especially during televised or high attendance events—and the freedom I have tonight only fuels my need for Greta, knowing she screams twice as loud when we fuck at the farm.

We split time between the palace and the farm these days, enjoying a life of luxury on one end, hard work on the other. It helps us both keep things in perspective and gives our sons—there are two of them now—a chance to escape the confines of royalty every so often. There are still guards stationed all over the farm with binoculars and rifles, but so be it. All part of being married to a princess.

And my God, she’s my princess in more ways than one. She’s more comfortable now voicing her opinion, making herself heard in royal proceedings. She walks with her chin higher, her confidence shining from within. Sometimes I can barely maintain my balance carrying all the pride I feel in her.

She’s also my princess in the bedroom.

Obedient, eager to satisfy, uninhibited while somehow being…sweet.

So sweet.

Inside, Greta strips off her sweatshirt and I see she’s in a ruffly, red strapless bra that matches her panties and I can’t hold on any longer. With my briefs full of lead, I cross the porch and jerk open the door, ducking into the farmhouse.

Greta turns with a gasp, backing up against the counter, as if I’m an intruder, her tits heaving up and down with alarm, barely contained within that flimsy bra.

My wife is in the mood for games, I see.

Christ, she keeps me on my toes. So adventurous. So exciting.

Her playfulness only infatuates me more. More and more with no end in sight.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she gasps, picking up a knife from the counter.

Oh God, my cock is stiff as iron. She’s asking for a rough round of lovemaking tonight and I’m all too willing to provide her with exactly what she wants. “Use that knife to cut off the bra, princess. Show me those royal tits and I might consider letting you go.”

“But…but that’s quite improper, sir.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Shall I come over there and do it for you?”

“No,” she whimpers, biting her lip. Sliding the sharp edge of the knife between her skin and the see-through material, she slits the band holding it together, her firm breasts bouncing out, her delicious nipples puckered with lust. “Can I go now, sir?”

I unzip my pants slowly, deliberately, watching her eyes fill with mock concern, her butt rattling the cupboards in an attempt to get further away, but there’s nowhere to go. “I’m still not sure if I should let you go free, Princess. I’m thinking.” I hum for a moment. “Cut those cock tease panties off and I’ll consider it.”

“I don’t mean to tease,” she whimpers.

“Nonetheless, that’s what you did. That’s what you do when you make your pussy look so nice and inviting, isn’t it?” I drop my voice. “Cut the panties off.”

“But—”

“Now.”

The light catches the moisture on her inner thighs, letting me know she’s seriously turned on, and that clue keeps me in character, my aim, as always, to satisfy Greta. My angelic, brave and relentlessly sex-hungry wife.

Greta slits the panties at the leg hole, and they drop to her ankles.

The guttural sound I make isn’t an act. “She’s even more inviting when she’s bare.”

“Please, sir…I’ve never…”

“You’ve never what? Had a man?”

She bows her head, cheeks enflamed.

“That might have to change tonight, Princess.” I reach into my jeans and wrap a hand around my cock, bringing it out into the open. “After all, look what you’ve done.”

“But—”

“Hold out your hand,” I say firmly, closing the distance in between us with slow, measured strides, continuing forward until I’m breathing against the crown of her head, my hips carrying forward until my inches slide into her waiting palm. “Hold it tight and stroke it, nice and easy.” I cup her right tit in my hand, kneading the high mound in my palm and listening to her whimper. “If you do a good job, maybe I’ll let you go.”

She blinks up at me, throat working with a swallow as she begins to pump my cock. “Y-you’re never going to let me go, are you?”

“You don’t really want me to, do you?” I drop a hand to the space between her legs and give my wife’s cunt a few light slaps, before plunging two fingers deep, holding them there and speaking hoarsely into the hair above her ear. “You dressed like this because you need something, don’t you?”

Christ, she’s soaked. “I…I…”

“Were you trying to attract a Daddy in your little red panty set?”

She bites her lip shyly.

“There’s my answer,” I rasp. And with my cheek pressed to the overhead cabinet, teeth bared like an animal, I drag her up and position her ass high against the lower cabinets, thrusting myself home into my wife’s hot, slippery pussy, slamming her butt up against the wood. “Admit out loud that you dressed up to tempt me…and I’ll gladly be your Daddy, baby.” I move my hips in a circle, my jaw slackening over the feel of her. “I’d thank God every day for pussy this tight.”

She leans in and whispers in my ear like she’s telling a secret, her tone solemn. “I wanted a Daddy,” she confides, her thighs opening another two inches.

“You’ve got one,” I grunt, burying myself in her over and over and over, her knees lifting and opening to let me sink deeper, my name eventually chanted on her lips like a prayer, begging me to claim her harder. “This claim doesn’t get any deeper, Greta,” I choke out, feeling her orgasm surround me, her cunt pulsing, pulsing, pulsing while she thrashes between me and the cabinets. “You’re mine for life.”

“And the next one,” she gasps into my neck, stroking my shoulders and laying adoring kisses on my jaw. “And the one after that…and the one after that…”