The Plumber's Daughter Ch. 02

Patrick held me close as we kissed, running his fingers through my hair. They were warm kisses, gentle, passionate kisses, no hurry kisses. We had all the time in the world, the night belonged to us. He held me for awhile, and I could hear his heart beating. It was beating only for me. Patrick felt so warm and solid as he held me, stroking my hair and rubbing my back. There was no need for words; the creek's soothing music and Patrick's beating heart was the only sound I needed.

* *

*Patrick:*

This is one of my favorite spots in the world. I would hide out here as a boy when I was angry with my father or to get out of the cow barns. During the summer I would disappear for days on end like Huckleberry Finn or Tom Sawyer on the Mississippi River. I drove my Dad mad with worry and was grounded almost continuously, all to no avail. Corporal punishment or grounding didn't faze me one bit, I never gave up my hiding place. Sure, the same creek ran through our property, and we had a 4 acre pond not far from the house, but the bridge was my private clubhouse. It was my get away where I could let my imagination soar in books. "Robin Hood" by Roger L. Green, "Ivanhoe" by Sir Walter Scott, and I loved all the original "Conan the Barbarian" stories by Robert E. Howard. I read everything by Edgar Rice Burroughs.

I was intrigued by "The Once and Future King" by T. H. White, and I am still fascinated by Tolkien. I would climb up on the bridge foundation and settle into a hollow crevice, to sit and read out of sight. My adventures for the day were contingent on what book I was reading. I would run up and down the creek banks fighting evil black knights or would slay dragons with my sword, a stick, or wrestling crocodiles in the creek. I would kill the pretend crocodiles with my knife - a real one, a fixed blade Buck knife. A word of advice, never swim like Tarzan with a sharp knife in your teeth. I still have the scar on my tongue for that stupidity.

I even had my own secret magic gold ring that I always wore around my neck on a chain. It was my ring of invisibility and it kept me safe from harm and discovery. I wore it every day on a chain around my neck right up to the day I was married.

Unlike the one ring to rule them all and in darkness bind them, from "The Lord of the Rings" by Tolkien, mine was a ring with a mother's love forged into it. It was my mother's plain gold wedding band....Mom died when I was nine years old. Dad never remarried and I assumed wrongly that that fate would be mine after my wife died.

* *

*Marie:*

"Do you still want your cock sucked, Sweetheart?" I asked, knowing that he did. Patrick was so good by patiently waiting. Nevertheless, I could feel his erection straining against his jeans the whole time we were there.

"Do I have to talk dirty?" He asked.

"Not if you don't want too," I answered, pulling his zipper down, "Just get comfortable and enjoy."

"I can smell your sex, Marie, my horny little bitch. You are wet between your legs. You are a wet and willing hot little number. Just remember you are mine now. If you are a good little cocksucker, I will reward you with a good hard fucking."

"I love it when you talk dirty to me," I cooed, kissing his stomach.

Patrick opened his door and we switched sides. He took his jeans and boxers off before he got back in. I slid over and lay down on my stomach the long way across the seat with my feet hanging out the driver's door. He got comfortable by leaning up against the passenger door and waited for me to start. I couldn't wait to suck on his big cock. Patrick wasn't the only person that was horny.

I started by kissing and licking his stomach, working my way towards his cock. It was standing at attention for me, patiently waiting to be licked and sucked. I started licking the base of his cock then moved to the tip, rolling my tongue around there. I had my love squirming in the seat as he played with my hair.

I continued to lick and suck, his hands buried in my hair, taking his cock deeper into my mouth, anticipating when he would flood my mouth with his luscious seed. I teased him; bringing him to the brink of sweet release and then backing off. I did this several times until he growled, "Enough," He then took control of me by my hair, setting the cadence.

"Enough teasing, little bitch, lick and suck and you will swallow it all." I love it when he talks dirty.

Patrick's breathing increased, becoming deep steady breathes and he was making a low noise in his throat, a low deep primal growl that turns me on so much. I was squeezing my legs together, pushing my pussy against the truck seat, trying to stimulate myself. I wanted to come so bad.

I tried sticking my hand into my blue jeans to get to my pussy. Patrick slapped my ass with his hand and it stung even through my clothes, "Enough of that, Marie, that's my job. You will behave and wait."

Of course I would wait. Patrick was the first man since my father who could actually handle me. He would make me behave, and I loved it, thinking, " A spanking now and that might be just what I needed, followed, of course, by a good fucking afterward?"

My thoughts were pushed aside by another of his thunderous orgasms releasing a deluge of hot creamy cum into my mouth. He pulled out slightly so that I wouldn't choke, and as before, it was a delicious relentless barrage of semen for me to swallow. I was almost overwhelmed by his onslaught of creamy semen as my first little orgasm washed over me.

I got up to kiss him but Patrick got out of the truck and said, "Thank you, Marie." I watched him run off into the bushes taking off his shirt and dropping it. Now he was completely naked. I got out of the truck smiling, and was thinking, "Life with my Blue Knight will be anything but boring."

I started to undress, getting into the spirit of the game. I remembered the times I spent with my Mother. Mom acts in several small community theatres and that is where she met Dad. Dad was hired to do the plumbing work in the restored theatre where Mom was rehearsing. This was something we did as a family, going to Mom's plays and helping out. Mom and I would rehearse her lines, and eventually I had my own small parts, or walk on parts in the small and mostly adult theatre productions. Dad helped with the props and the lights. He joked that he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, although he bragged about carrying his acting skills in a thimble in his pocket.

I also took voice and singing lessons from Mom, and we sang together on Sunday in our church choir during mass. In high school I really got involved with all the school plays, and in my senior year I played the star role as Maria from the musical "The Sound of Music". That was followed by the same part in Mom's theatre group, the pinnacle of my acting career to both my parents' delight. Mom was the Mother Superior. Mom and I rehearsed our parts with a passion and then we would laugh and talk afterward. She was sad that I would be attending college in the fall and living in the dormitory.

In retrospect, my Mother is far more talented in singing, dancing or acting that I could ever hope to be. Mom stole the show and out shined everyone when she sang "Climb Every Mountain", although I did get by pretty good, coming in a close second from the reviews in the entertainment section in the newspaper. Dad told me afterward that he never heard Mom sing with such heartfelt passion and love. Mom sang that song , "Climb Every Mountain" was for me, Marie Antoinette, not the character, Maria. I was my Mother's pride and joy and her inspiration. This precious song between mother and daughter was a spiritual gift that a Patrick would say" transcends all".

Mom could have gone places and then I was born. During the first five years of my life to until I entered school, Mom's entire world was me. I could read when I was three. I entered I kindergarten reading at a third grade level. I was able to express myself with a vocabulary that was unusually large for my age. My drawings and paintings were displayed in every room of our small apartment and then saved in a leather portfolio to make room for new ones. My real talent is painting and drawing, something which my mother nurtured and encouraged. In my early years, my days belonged to my mother and in the evenings my father. It just about broke their hearts when I dropped out of college.

* *

*Patrick: *

I quietly circled back and followed Marie down to the water. As I hoped, she was completely undressed and waiting for me. My lover's trim figure delighted my eyes as it became faintly silhouetted by the water and dim mellow moonlight light from the half moon. In my imagination I saw Marie as one of the mythical Naiads, a fresh water nymph as she waded in the shallow water near the shore. My heart pounded in my chest with enraptured love for Marie, pounding so loud I was certain that she could hear me coming and would return to the water whence she came.

* *

*Marie:*

It was almost a mystical night as I waded in the shallow water along the banks of the creek. The light from the half moon caressed my naked form and I felt as if I was almost part of nature. It was an odd but lovely thought; me, a horny water sprite. I was already wet and aroused between my legs and I imagined that Patrick could smell my woman's scent as I was looking and listening for him, stroking my breasts and getting hornier by the minute, knowing what was to come, a good hard fucking as only he can do it. Then Patrick was there with his hands around my waist, nuzzling and kissing my cheek, his rock hard cock pressing against me. I reached back with my hand and touched his face.

"I've been good," I said, taking his hands and squeezing them.

"No you haven't. You have been wonderfully sexy and naughty stroking your beautiful breasts by your creek my little Naiad. I can smell you from a distance and now you can't get away. You will have to grant me one wish."

"Is a Naiad like a water sprite?" I asked.

"A Naiad is a fresh water nymph and cousin to the tree nymph. They are much larger and sexier than a water spirit," he said, putting his hands on my shoulders and turning me to face him. He then took my hand and we walked out of the water to the soft grass of the creek bank.

I put my arms around his neck and then kissed him long and deep, "You have your fairytale creatures mixed up Patrick. Genies grant wishes."

"You have already granted two of my wishes," he replied, pulling me tight into him and kissing my mouth, "One, you have agreed to stay, and two, you love me. Three will come in time. I am content to wait," he said, pulling me down into the grass next to him.

"Get on your hands and knees, Marie, and brace yourself."

Straddling my dripping and welcoming pussy with his cock, Patrick then leaned forward until his face was close to mine and kissed my cheek, "Please and thank you, my love," he said as he entered me, pushing slowly, making me gasp and moan while stretching my tight cunt until I could feel his balls caressing my ass cheeks. As before, it seemed that Patrick's huge cock filled my entire uterus and I started to orgasm immediately, moaning and squirming from side-to-side when he suddenly pulled out and slapped my ass, sharply," Not yet, Marie." Then he lightly slapped my pussy as he stroked my clitoris with his fingers until I was literally begging him to fuck me.

Patrick started fucking me slowly again. In and out, in and out- bringing me to the brink several times before I was allowed my first little orgasm. Just as it peaked, his thrusting becoming more forceful and his cock seemed even bigger and harder as his balls spanked my ass. Amazed, I felt the beginning of another orgasm building. Patrick was spanking my ass just hard enough to sting, enhancing our love making. He timed his orgasm with mine. I was overwhelmed as that massive orgasm burned though me. I moaned and swore and for the life of me I don't remember what I said to him. Patrick was pulling my hair as he pounded me. The sharp intake of his breathing and the deep growl in his throat that was so Patrick, the Patrick I loved. Perhaps he is a little rough and wild but I like it when he fucks me that way. I have never made love to a man outside in the grass like this, nor have I ever had grass stains on my knees or the palms of my hands from fucking.

Afterward, we lay there not talking and he held me. We never had our fire. I was thinking about my mother and started crying. They were happy tears and he intuitively knew it. Patrick continued to hold me and stroked my hair.

* *

*Patrick:*

I have noticed that Marie likes it a little rough and that is good because sometimes I get a little carried away. I notice how turned on she gets when I pull Marie's hair while I bang her, or when I spank her ass and pussy. I absolutely adore Marie when she moans and pants, squirms and swears. There is nothing intimidating about that at all. Wow, talk about an ego booster! There is nothing like making love in the grass at night, it is so wild and primal. Afterward, I held her and stroked her hair. Not so much to comfort Marie because I knew they were happy tears, but because I love her and I could share the moment if not the memory. When we got home, I was exhausted and went right to bed. Marie checked on the horses, and let me sleep.

* *

*Marie:*

Patrick was exhausted when we got home. I must have worn him out, but what an eventful day we had. He went to bed while I checked on the horses and locked all of the doors. Afterward, I went into the kitchen and called my parents. I lost all track of the time talking to Mom. This was the first time in our life that we talked as equals. We both had a good cry, talked some more and then had another cry. We talked about everything. I didn't mention the Club or how I really met Patrick. I

wasn't ready for that yet, maybe someday. I told her that I met him in the City while he was on business. That was partially true and I told Mom that I loved him. Mom was intrigued about the fact that Patrick was a sometimes farmer and a blacksmith. She also wanted to attend one of his reenactments when I told her that he was part actor and had to stay in character and period dress the whole time the public was there.

As I said, I lost all track of time and was still talking at six o'clock the next morning. While I was talking to Dad, Patrick walked into the kitchen fully dressed. He then leaned over and kissed my cheek. Dad tends to have a loud telephone voice and when he talks, his voice tends to carry. While Patrick was making the coffee, he must have heard some of the comments that Dad made about him being a shit kicking farmer, and remarks about his Scottish heritage and not being good enough for me, things like that.

Patrick brought me a cup of coffee, grinning from ear to ear and took the telephone from me.

"Good morning, Mr. Bernardino. This is Patrick Ian Buchanan. All those things you said about me will have to be settled when we meet....... No, Mr. Bernardino, I was not listening in on another line. You are loud and have a big mouth," I just sat there, stunned. Nobody dares to talk to my Dad like that, "No, you have no expectations of privacy unless you talk quietly........ Yes, I know you are Marie's father. God bless you for that...... Is that what you think? I'm am eavesdropping punk? How interesting. Is that any way to talk to a future son-in-law?......You forbid me to see your daughter? I can assure you that's not happening. I love Marie and nobody is standing in my way, including you....... You are coming down here to kick my ass? I'll save you the trouble. Marie and I will be coming to visit you......

I'm not welcome in your house? That's fine, it is your house. You are welcome to visit mine anytime.....When? We will be coming to visit in about three weeks......Yes, I know you want a piece of me. Good luck with that. If you can't wait three weeks, Marie will give you our address. When we know for sure you are coming, Marie can put on a pot of sauce. That is, of course, if you are not afraid to meet with me....... Such language is that the best you can do. You swear like a girl...... At least curse me out in English, Mr. Bernardino......You are quite the tough guy on the telephone...... You don't say......oh, you do say. I disagree. Obviously somebody does talk to you like that, I just did....... in English, Mr. Bernardino, in English, unless you want me to finish this conversation in Gaelic." Patrick said laughing, "and then I will share some Gaelic swear words with you," he then handed me the telephone before walking out the back door, leaving me to deal with my now irate father........