Wild Thing by Huss JA

Author:Huss, JA
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Science Future Press
Published: 2019-05-12T16:00:00+00:00

On the morning of day six I’m sick of oatmeal, I’m sick of grilled cheese, and if I have to make another meatball I might lose my mind. Plus, I only have four days to get her ready for the wedding planners and her stepfather, and she hasn’t even tried on the dress yet.

So that’s my plan for today. Enough moping. She’s coming out of that room.

I open the double doors and yell, “Come down here, Lyssa.”

She huffs back at me from above.

“Now,” I say.

When she appears at the top of the stairs she’s wearing a new combination of clothes. Things I brought to her over the past several days, but not an outfit I chose.

Red athletic shorts that are so short and tight, if she were to turn around I’m pretty sure her ass cheeks would be hanging out. I brought those up the other day but she didn’t put them on. Just lounged around in her underwear that day. Teasing me and tempting me by opening her legs each time I brought her food.

Her top is a stretchy white t-shirt that hugs her curves and I can tell, even from down here, that she has no bra on because her nipples are hard. She didn’t wear that the day I brought it up either, opting instead to wear a pink zip-up hoodie with nothing underneath, the zipper down far enough that I caught a glimpse of her tits when she made a point to bend over and pick something up off the floor.

And extra-long, thigh-high tube socks. Which I brought the first night as part of her sleepwear ensemble. Apparently she doesn’t sleep naked. Because she put this stuff on without comment. All the pajamas were long nightshirts with cartoon characters on them.

Right now she’s staring at me from the top of the stairs, snapping her gum, and her long, blonde hair has been pulled up into two pigtails that are each curled into a loose spiral.

No wonder her stepfather treats her like a child. She certainly dresses, eats, and acts like one. Because right now, this image of her in this moment, was all her choice.

“What?” she snarls, bratty teenage princess on full display.

“You need to try on your wedding dress,” I say.

She huffs, but begins to descend the stairs. I step aside to let her pass and get a whiff of perfume. Something overly sweet. Like baby powder.

“Which room?” she asks, swinging her hips as she walks down the hall. I catch a glimpse of her ass cheeks, because yes. They are hanging out. There’s the tell-tale remnants of a yellow-green bruise from where I smacked her with the belt that first day across the bottom where her ass meets her thigh.

“The one with the open door,” I reply.

She saunters in, still enticing me with her hips, and I follow her.

The dress is hanging on the back of the open closet door, sealed up in a white bag.

“Take it out and put it on,” I say. “The seamstress needs to know if it fits.

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