Worlds of BBW Erotic Romance - Box Set

WORLDS OF BBW EROTIC ROMANCE

(BOX SET)

Tales of Sizzling Sci-Fi and Nerd Girl Romance with Lovely Curvaceous Heroines

by

Jennie Primrose

and

Celia Demure

Copyright: 2013 Jennie Primrose and Celia Demure

All rights reserved

Table of Contents

BBW GOTHIC, or HER STORMY KNIGHT

THE BBW AND THE SPACE LORD

The BBW, the Punk and the Ner
d

HER NEW LORD AND MASTER

A novel of romance and mystery

By Miss Jennie Ann Primrose

Bramble Gorge, Pennsylvania colony, 1770

There were bars on the window of Julia Powell’s bedroom in the Manse where she lived with her father, the Rector.

Her father had recently had bars installed on all of the windows of the house. He now forbade his daughter to go out into the town of Bramble Gorge, or anywhere else for that matter—she was not to leave the house, period.

He told her that the wicked world would be ending soon, and that he needed to keep her safe. Sometimes, as on this particular afternoon, she was further confined, locked into her bedroom. She escaped through her small, but prized collection of novels which she’d inherited from her late mother. The well-loved volumes were stories of adventure and mystery… and especially romance. Passionate loves between lords and ladies, knights and damsels, princes and princesses. The books carried her mind off to far-away lands, and she was grateful for the escape.

And then there was her other little escape… The window. It was barred now, true, but she could still look out. She could see her mother’s old gardens outside, now wildly overgrown. The forest edging the property was a verdant green in its summer prime, and the orange light of the setting sun reflected brilliantly off the leaves.

Between the house and the forest was a small hill, which the locals called the faerie mound. On top of mound, her father’s servants were busy. They had erected a heavy wooden framework and were installing something there, she wasn’t sure what… But she saw flashes of glimmering metal now and again from between the boards of the framework.

She knew it must have something to do with the Master.
Everything
that father did anymore had to do with the Master.

She took a longing glance outside through the bars of the window. The green forest with its cool shadows seemed to beckon to her. Her mother’s overgrown garden might have been the
Garden of Eden; she longed so much to venture there, to get outside… Outside might only be the colony of Pennsylvania, in America, but it seemed a paradise on Earth to Julia, confined as she was.

She felt liked a caged bird. A young woman of twenty, whose father mostly ignored her, with no friends, no suitors…

Ah, but the last complaint, was that really valid? Would she have had suitors, in any case, even if she were free to mingle with the townsfolk? She was no raving beauty, and she thought that people might find her fiery orange hair to be odd. But more than that, she was, well… Not quite petite.

Indeed, in happier times her father had used to call her his “plump little Princess.” She was plump, heavier than most, much stouter than current fashion would dictate.

Her mother had always told her that true gentlemen preferred curves, and that she had a body that was undeniably female—not some beanpole like most of the skinny town girls had. Her mother assured her that someday, she would find an honorable and handsome young man who would be truly enraptured by her.

Then, two years ago, shortly after her eighteenth birthday—and just before her dear mother would come down with the deadly fever which would kill her—she had met Richard. He was a soldier briefly garrisoned in the town, who was assigned to a division that would be heading west to confront hostile Indian savages at the other end of the colony.

Her father had been out of town at the time, visiting the seminary, and her mother, daring as always, allowed her to attend a ball in town, escorted only by one of the maidservants.

Richard had been there, dressed in his brilliant scarlet uniform. The tall, strapping soldier, who’d been flattering and wooing her for weeks before, danced and reeled with her… And they’d both drunk quite a bit of spiced hard cider.

Julia had found it a simple matter to get away from her maidservant escort (who’d also had a bit too much cider to drink, herself).  Soon after, in the thick copse of trees just off the town commons, under a cloak of leaves and moonlight shadows, she had permitted Richard to steal kisses from her eager lips.

Kisses… and a bit more. She’d given him her favors, really. He’d been so forceful, the way his experienced hands had pulled up her skirts and petticoats in the dark copse. He’d been strong enough that pushing her thick thighs apart had been no effort at all for him.

She couldn’t exactly say she’d been ravished, as she too had been caught up in the desire of the moment. But he never asked her if he could cross that barrier—he simply took her, and her maidenhood was rendered before she had any chance to object.

A few moments after that, she’d heard him loudly grunt and then felt his crushing weight full upon her as his spasms of pleasure died down.

All she’d felt was pain and pressure…

Then, he’d hastily withdrawn and stood, leaving her sore and alone on the mossy earth.

She’d sought for his face in the dark. Glimpsing it in a shaft of moonlight, she saw that his demeanor had changed. Polite before, he now wore the sneering grin of a conniving child who’d just gotten his way.

“Help me up, please, dear Richard,” she’d asked.

But Richard just laughed. “That wasn’t worth waiting for. Now that I’ve emptied my oysters, I wonder why I bothered. Still, I never bedded a thick-bodied lass before, so I suppose I can cross that off my list.”

Julia felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. “But you said I was beautiful…” she protested.

He laughed again. “Well your face is tolerably fair enough in the right light, I suppose. Even if you have more meat on your bones than most men would want to savor. Might as well stick my prick in a featherbed if I wanted that much padding. Truth is, I could do better—and I expect I shall, perhaps later this very evening with another tipsy lass.”

And so she’d been left there alone, sobbing, to brush the leaves and twigs from her skirts.

Later, she’d confessed to her mother what had happened. Her mother had been a gentlewoman in every sense of the term, patient and endlessly kind—but Julia had still expected a severe scolding.

But her mother had only held her, soothed her as she’d stroked her hair. “Daughter,” she’d said, “you are hardly the first young female to make such mistake. And he’s hardly the first man to act as such as a brutish boor. But don’t worry—we will strenuously deny any rumors he might spread.  I feel it’s important for you to be able to choose your own suitors. Now, my parents were dead set against me marrying your father, with all his Godly passion… But I made my choice and did indeed secure my own happiness. Someday, you too will be able to choose your own husband. An honorable and decent man… Though a young lady must sometimes suffer boors until she finds such a one.”

Julia was surprised at this promise. “Choose my own husband? Won’t father object?”

He mother had smiled. “He obeys God, but he will not contradict my wishes. I’ll make him swear to it, child.”

Shortly thereafter, the fever had claimed her mother. Julia had grieved deeply. Her father had been beside himself, mad with grief and blaming God and himself for her death, nearly starving himself…

Until he’d found the Master. Or rather, the Master had contacted him, whispering in his mind.

Thankfully, Richard had been sent out to Fort Pitt shortly after their tryst, and had never had a chance to spread rumors about her locally, so her father was not afflicted with any such scandal on top of his tragic loss. But he had grown distant to her, though still civil…

Now, as she kept looking out the barred window, she caught sight of a figure approaching the property from the shadows of the forest. It appeared that it was a young man.

She retrieved her spyglass from the nearby table and gazed through to better assess this person.

It was indeed a young man, limping slightly as he strode purposefully towards the fence bordering the property. His clothes were disheveled, and forelocks of his dark hair hung down over his intense dark eyes. His tri-cornered hat was pushed far forward, tilted down as if to further obscure his face… Though she was able to see that he had a close-cropped dark beard. Only the tiny, tarnished silver badge he wore marked him as a Constable employed by the local Magistrate.

Constable Bolt
, Julia recalled, remembering having heard his name.

Bolt scowled as he limped towards the house. His right foot, covered by a large, ill-fitting boot that did not match the one on his left, did not seem to want to cooperate with his haste.

A clubfoot,
Julia presumed. She had heard some of the serving girls whisper about the young Constable who was fair handsome, but was a “half-cripple”… Which seemed a cruel and unnecessary insult.

They also giggled that he was rumored to be “quite the stallion” in masculine terms, which she didn’t quite understand. How could a man with a bad foot gallop like a stallion? 

Yes, he was fair handsome, and there was some kind of dark passion behind those anger-slitted eyes of his--she could see that plainly.

As she watched his scowling face, she felt sympathy for him, and more than that:  curiosity and a wish that she might meet him…

But that wasn’t likely to happen, with her imprisoned in the Manse. Indeed, as he approached the fence bordering the property, heading towards the faerie mound, he was intercepted by one of the larger servant men… It looked like Mister Starks, he father’s most trusted man.

Starks yelled something at the Constable and waved for him to go away. The Constable yelled back but, in a minute, he had turned and headed back with an angry gait into the forest… 

Two Months Later…

Ed Bolt shuffled into Mother Henne’s tavern with his head down, bracing himself for the taunts he knew would come. He’d entered by the back door, but one of the bastards inside was bound to notice him anyway.

The place was full of drunken louts, as usual. There was a catcall and one idiot shouted, “Oh, we’d best behave. Constable’s here!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ed saw someone stumbling towards him. It was the fallen gentlemen, Mister Grist, who had the previous year lost his fortune on land speculation. His frizzled white periwig was sliding half off his head, and his once fine clothes were threadbare and patched.

Ale-swilling bastard!

Ed turned to avoid the man. But, although the drunk wobbled as he came, he moved fast. He was upon Ed in an instant, blocking his path.

“Welcome, dear Constable!” he said. “Hope you’re not here to arrest me for public drunkenness?” And then he belched loudly in Ed’s face, nauseating him with the sour smell of ale and onions.

“Rutting hell!” Ed swore between gritted teeth.

“What was that?” the drunken man asked.

“Out of my way,” Ed rasped, trying his best to sound intimidating.

He wasn’t afraid of a fight—he was angry enough for one most of the time, really—but with a tavern full of drunken men and the impediment of his bad foot, he knew he wouldn’t win in a struggle. He was hoping to avoid further humiliation that would make his life in the town even more difficult than it already was.

After a moment, Mister Grist placed a sweaty hand on Ed’s shoulder and gave him a leering smile—but he did, at least, allow him to pass.

Ed saw Jenny, the barmaid, scrubbing some glasses at a table nearby. The skinny, beak-nosed girl looked up, eyeing him with obvious disgust. As if she had any right to judge…

The few times he had bedded her, she had seemed to enjoy herself quite thoroughly, praising his vigor and his… masculine endowment… and telling him that his crippled foot did not matter to her.

But when one of the local gossips discovered their secret liaisons, she’d been ashamed and taunted for being “the cripple’s huzzy.” Since then, she’d looked at Ed as if he had leprosy.

“Where’s Mother Henne?” Ed asked, not meeting her gaze. “I got a note. She wants to see me.”

“Where’s she always?” she sighed. “In the cupboard.” Jenny nodded to her right, and then got back to her scrubbing without sparing Ed another glance.

The cupboard was barely six paces by three, lined with shelves holding sacks and jars of supplies. Mother Henne sat hunched over a small table inside, poring over a ledger-book while she ripped bites out of a long strip of jerky with her few remaining teeth.

Ed removed his hat and nodded greetings to the gnarled old woman. The crone was the closest thing to a friend he had here in the town of Bramble Gorge, and she showed him more kindness than his own parents ever had. She was vastly older than Ed, but in terms of temperament, they were very similar.

“Mother,” he said, trying to be respectful, “you sent for me?”

“Edwin!” she cackled, spitting a small chunk of jerky onto the ledger book. “About time you came ‘round!”

“I got a note,” Ed explained. “But I don’t understand it.”

“Sit down!” she motioned him towards the floor. It was awkward with his bad foot, but he managed to sit down there.

She took a cheesecloth-covered plate from a shelf beside her, leaned down and placed it in front of him. Ed removed the cloth to find a piece of currant cake on the plate, and a small mug of ginger beer set at its center.

If it was an attempt to bribe him, it was a childish bribe. But Ed
did
like her currant cake. And ginger beer was a rare treat. He broke off a piece of the cake with his fingers and lifted it to his mouth. It was sweet and good.

“Now you have to investigate,” she said. “As I told you in the note.”

He shook his head, and mumbled through his mouthful of cake: “I don’t understand. You didn’t tell me what you saw.”

She leaned forward, her eyes bulging wide. “I saw a demon.”

“What?”

She cleared her throat with a phlegmy cough and repeated, “I saw a demon. It was up on that faerie mound on the Rector’s land, last night. Very late.”

“You were visiting the Rector’s house?” Ed asked, confused.

“Well,” she said. “It was late at night, and very foggy. I like walking about then, ‘cause I can spit in the direction of people’s houses and laugh at them as they sleep.”

“Oh,” Ed said. He knew Mother Henne didn’t like people much. After fifty years of running a tavern, she’d said she was sick of them. That was the reason that she now spent most of her time hiding in the cupboard, letting Jenny and the rest of the help handle the customers.

“There was a flash of white light,” she continued. “It was blinding like lightning, though it came from some shiny pole on the faerie mound there. And I saw the demon there, dancing and screaming as the light flashed. There were men, too—one in preacher’s clothes. My eyes are still sharp, boy, and I saw it all.”

“Umm … Why do you think it was a demon?” Ed asked.

“It moved unlike a human person. Body twisting and rolling like a snake’s. And those red eyes! I don’t think he saw me, though. I shuffled off into the trees pretty quick.”

Ed sighed, and chewed another bite of his cake. “The Rector’s property is out-of-bounds for me now,” he said. “I have the strictest orders to keep away from the land and the manse. He’s banned most people from going up there for the past few months. Last time I was up there his man threatened to cut my throat if I got too close. Claimed I was invading the Rector’s privacy… So I’m not sure what I could do.”

And it was likely that Mother Henne was sampling a bit too much of her own home-brew rotgut late at night, as she was apt to do—which could explain the “demon.”

But then … Rector Powell
was
so very secretive, and this wasn’t the first time Ed had heard of the odd flashes of white light.

And then there’d been all those recent shipments of materials up to the Rector’s estate. Ed had been asked to help watch over one of the orders when it’d arrived in town, and the crates had weighed tons; they’d had to use oxen to pull the carts.

Some crates had held ingots of silver, as had been obvious from the mine stamp seared on their sides. There’d been other things, too: iron hardware from the Philadelphia smiths, lumber from town, glassware …

He’d seen for himself that they had been building
something
up there on that mound. Maybe there
was
something queer going on.

And Ed Bolt, who was supposed to keep law and order and spy on the Crown’s enemies, was being wrongly excluded from the affair.

Hells, he was supposed to be working for the town fathers, he should have been informed directly of any secret projects! But no one was telling him anything.

He did not like that—not at all. It gave him a fearsome itch that was half curiosity and half unmitigated anger.

“Can’t you have a little peek, maybe tonight?” Mother Henne asked. “You’re a Constable, you have some authority? I don’t hold with demons in my township!”

“All right,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do tonight. But don’t tell anyone else, please?” The last thing he wanted was for word of this investigation to get to his superiors.

“Of course I won’t tell, Edwin,” Mother Henne said, smiling a gap-toothed smile. “You’re the only one I trust, because you don’t trust anyone. A fine and practical trait in a young man!”