Claimed by the Alphas Read online

  Claimed by the Alphas

  Innocent Brides Books 1-5

  Ω∞Ω

  Copyright ©2018 Izzy Slam

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction intended for mature readers. All characters are fictional, not blood related, and are consenting adults over the age of 18 years. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Claimed by the Farmer

  Claimed by the Preacher

  Claimed by the Silver Fox

  Claimed by the Ex-Con

  Claimed by My Dad’s Best Friend

  Claimed by the Farmer

  A Historical BDSM Virgin Erotica

  19-year-old Claire is about to meet her husband-to-be. She has remained pure in every way and has no idea what to expect. But Joseph is more than willing to get her ready for their wedding night, complete with a tease session that nearly sends her over the edge. She won’t have to endure the tease for long though, as Claire quickly learns that pleasing her husband comes with its own rewards.

  Please note: This story features orgasm denial, spanking, and other elements of light BDSM. It is for mature readers only.

  ~Claire~

  I walked into the modest home with a great deal of apprehension. I thought my husband would be waiting on me, but it seemed that wasn’t the case.

  “I’m sure you’re tired from your long trip, Miss Claire. My sister Ramona is here, and she’ll be available to assist you in just a few moments.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll wait.”

  I watched the gentleman, who had escorted me from the train station, walk back to his wagon.

  Technically, the man who had purchased me wasn’t my husband just yet. But Joseph Miller from this small town in Kansas had selected me from a batch of photos to become his bride.

  I saw some of those whom I was up against, and I wouldn’t have considered myself the most beautiful of the 18-20-year-olds. But I was lucky to have been chosen at all. Women who were not purchased by the age of 21 were sent to the prisons to keep the men behind iron bars satisfied, but only those prisoners whose behavior was exceptional. The more cooperative the prisoner, the more often he was given a prison maiden of his choice.

  I had no idea what Joseph looked like, but I had been told he was in his mid-thirties. With me being only 19, that was quite the age difference. But I could not complain. I had always been drawn to older men, perhaps because I lost mine when I was so young and desperately missed having a fatherly figure look over me.

  Joseph also worked as a farmer, which would mean he should be strong and patient. I had spent a lot of time lately thinking about becoming the bride of a strong man, running my soft hands up his rugged arms and feeling the hardness of his muscles.

  I heard the door open to the room where I waited, and a beautiful woman entered, holding a simple white dress—the one I would be expected to wear when I met Mr. Joseph. She must be my future sister in-law, no doubt here to help me get settled so I could rest. I was sure that the next few days would be full.

  “Good day, Miss Claire. So wonderful to see you made it here. Was your trip pleasant?”

  “It was as pleasant as I expected.”

  “Wonderful,” she beamed. “I’m Mr. Joseph’s cousin, Ramona. He sent me to prepare you for his arrival. Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “No, thank you.” I studied the dress as she laid it gently on the bed, but I couldn’t help but also admire the curves that were visible through the snug-fitting dress she wore, her long, strawberry blond curls falling in ringlets over her bosom. With the brightly sparkling stones around the bodice of her dress, it was apparent she came from wealth.

  “Well then, let’s head to the powder room and get ready, shall we? Mr. Joseph will be here within the hour.”

  “When will I be told about the wedding plans? I assume you are handling most of them?”

  She placed her hands on my shoulders and offered me a warm smile. “Your husband-to-be would like to spend the day with you. You’ll be staying here for the evening. And tonight, when I come back to stay with you, we can go over the wedding details.”

  I followed Ramona down the hall and into a lavish room with a stunning dressing table and mirror. One lone stool rested in front of the mirror, and in front of me were the essentials every woman wanted to have in a wash room: brushes and combs, a hand mirror, small containers of lip salve and some powder and rouge. I was shocked to see these things, not realizing I was marrying into wealth. Could a farmer afford such luxuries?

  “This is lovely,” I said, lifting the salve and admiring the rosy color.

  “I promised my cousin I would offer you my amenities. Though I have to admit,” she said, leaning down and peering into the mirror, “you don’t need much help. I think with a dot of powder and rouge, maybe a trace of salve to lift the fatigue, and you’ll be as good as new.”

  As she brushed my hair and applied a dusting of powder and rouge, I felt pampered. Nervous butterflies swarmed through my belly as Mr. Joseph’s arrival came nearer.

  “Are you married, Ramona?”

  I figured she must have been.

  She flashed a smile as she tucked a strand of hair underneath a hair pin. “Yes, I am. My husband runs the saloon downtown.”

  “So, this is your home?”

  “It’s the family home. But don’t worry. Mr. Joseph purchased one several years ago, not long before his wife passed.”

  “Oh, I had no idea he was married before. How did his wife pass?”

  “Tuberculosis.” She let out a sigh that made me feel heavy. “My cousin wasn’t even allowed to be around her before she died.”

  “That must have been awful for him. And her.”

  “It was. It took him nearly eighteen months to stop grieving. But once he did, we all saw the light in his eyes. So, we pooled our money together and suggested he look for another bride.”

  Knowing this little detail about my future husband made me feel a little closer to him. And in just a few moments, I could put a face to the man who purchased me two and a half weeks ago.

  Ramona opened a drawer next to me and removed a small bottle of perfume, passing it to me. “I’ll let you put this on.”

  I removed the glass lid and touched the lip of the bottle. A strong floral scent drifted my way as I lightly dabbed my neck. And as I caught my reflection in the mirror, I suddenly felt like the picture of femininity. Never had I ever felt or looked this beautiful.

  She led me back to the bedroom and helped me get the new dress on. And that made me feel even more beautiful.

  “You are gorgeous,” Ramona said as she pulled some long curls around the front of my shoulder.

  “Thank you,” I beamed. “Do you think he’ll like me?”

  “How could he not?”

  With that, she led me to the sitting room where I would wait for Mr. Joseph. She gave me a light kiss on the cheek. “My cousin will adore you. Enjoy your afternoon, and I will see you again this evening.”

  I nodded as she walked out the door, and my nervousness grew as the questions mounted.

  What would I talk about with my husband?

  What if he didn’t like me in person as much as he did on paper?

>   Will he want me to call him “Mr. Joseph” or “Sir”?

  What if he was well endowed and sex was excruciating?

  I had heard stories of women bleeding profusely during consummation. But my best friend, who was married last year, told me that her husband’s thick manhood felt good and caused her to have multiple orgasms.

  She also told me that he insisted on using her mouth for sex, but that he also did the same to her. Apparently, this was common bedroom activity for many couples. Personally, I found it revolting. Why would you want to put your mouth down there? I hoped that Mr. Joseph wasn’t like that, and that he would only want to make love to me the traditional way.

  As my anxiety grew, I walked to the large windows in the sitting room and pulled back the curtains that had been closed to keep the sun out. The house was located several miles from town, surrounded by rolling hills and sycamore trees. I tried to picture the rest of my life with a man I hadn’t met, imagining what sort of life I would have, how many children we would be gifted with, and whether we would be truly happy together.

  Fantasizing like this wasn’t unfamiliar. I often wondered what the world would be like if we could choose our husbands, not the other way around. My mother was paid sixty dollars for me—money she desperately needed as a widow. But the government would get nearly a third of that money, a tax every parent paid when their daughters were sold. It had been this way for many generations, and it wasn’t likely to change.

  I stepped away from the window, and the second I did, I heard the sounds of the wagon wheels grinding along the earth. My heart pounded inside my chest as I pressed down the front of my dress. I wanted him to like me so much. I wondered if he was as nervous as I was.

  When he finally walked through the front door, he nearly stole my breath. He was more handsome than I could have dreamed, and he was not dressed like a farmer at all.

  Once the door was closed, he immediately removed his hat and brushed his gaze up and down my body. I tingled from head to toe, doing the same. His hair was dark and wavy, and his face perfectly sculpted. Hard lines around dark green eyes hinted at his age and occupation that required being in the sun all day. Charcoal gray trousers that matched a light gray vest made him look rather distinguished.

  “My lovely maiden, Claire...” His voice, deep and commanding, echoed around me.

  I licked my lips and smiled, taking a step his way, suddenly drawn to him. It was socially forbidden to approach your new husband like this unless given permission, but I couldn’t help myself. “Hello, Mr. Joseph.”

  ~Joseph~

  I had decided to take the day off instead of making Claire wait until the evening to meet me. I knew she would be feeling nervous, as most new brides did. And quite honestly, I was a bit nervous myself. I wanted my soon-to-be wife to feel as strongly attracted to me as I did her. It would make our marital relations that much more enjoyable.

  I never understood men who didn’t care what their wives thought or felt. Yes, we owned them and had complete charge over them, but their happiness was a reflection of our abilities to not only care for them, but also to please them. And if your wife isn’t happy, it spills over to every part of your life.

  I had seen pictures of Claire just a few weeks ago, only several months after my cousin Ramona informed me that the family had pitched in nearly $40 to help me move on with my life. My first wife died two years ago, rest her soul, and I had just finished paying off her funeral several months ago. I missed her dearly, there’s no doubt. But I knew that I was ready to remarry when all I could think about was a nameless, faceless angel who would submit to me willingly and happily. How many nights had I jerked myself to completion fantasizing about her? I knew she was out there somewhere. And the moment I ordered the monthly catalog of available maidens, I could feel it in my veins. My future was somewhere within these pages.

  I flipped through dozens of sheets (I doubt Claire knew how many women she was up against; most maidens don’t) before I saw her photograph. Her faint smile, long naturally curly locks of hair, fair skin, and soft angelic eyes made me harden instantly. The fact that she had chosen to wear a dress that displayed her ample cleavage made my manhood twitch. But still, there was something about her that did me in. My chest swelled with potential love for this woman that I didn’t even know.

  Really, all I knew was that her name was Claire Goode. A quick flip to the back where her maidenograpy was listed in one short paragraph told me only part of what I wanted to know about her—that her father had died when she was a young girl, that she lived in Holden, Missouri, she was an exceptional cook, loved to sew and read (when time permitted), and dreamed of owning an animal farm someday. Good heavens, I wanted this woman and I wanted her right away.

  Her price was a modest $60. I would have happily paid more than that. I had put aside $30, and that combined with my family’s earnings would afford me the loveliest of maidens.

  But my gorgeous Claire was the loveliest of all, and by this time tomorrow, she will be Claire Miller, my forever bride and the mother of my future children.

  When I got to the family home that we use for guests and travelers, I felt that tug in my gut. I had plans for Claire that involved a tremendous need to assert my dominance and begin training her to please me. Knowing that soon, I would be shoving my erection past those pretty lips of hers made blood pump through my shaft like a flooding river.

  But the moment I walked through the front door and saw her standing there in the dress I’d bought for her, everything coalesced at once. I felt it in my soul, that I had made the right decision.

  My God, she was beautiful. Part of her hair had been twisted into a braid and knotted on the side of her head while the rest of her curls spilled down the front of her chest. The white dress accented the healthy, innocent look she had. It dipped down low enough to show she was not lacking in breasts, and her sensual, child-bearing hips were easy to see underneath the fabric that clung to her body. Obviously, the dress was slightly too small, but not really. In fact, it was just “too small” enough.

  I took my hat off and greeted her, having a hard time not visualizing her naked underneath me. I was surprised when she took a step toward me as it’s considered impolite to approach your husband to be if he hasn’t done the same. But the moment I heard her voice, I knew that I was done for.

  My erection bulged in my pants as I approached her. I could smell the perfume from several feet away, and I couldn’t wait to put my hands on her.

  ~Claire~

  After setting his hat on the wall hook, he approached me and took me by the hands. My pulse thrummed in my neck as I took in the sight of the man I would lie down with the next day. His tongue brushed along his lips as he studied my face, and that familiar throb between my legs made an appearance. I’d felt it many times but never did anything about it, wanting to remain as pure as possible.

  My future husband cupped my face with one hand, the calluses along his palm scratching my cheek, making him that much more rugged. He smelled fresh and clean, and yet so manly. “Only nineteen years old. Such youth and beauty radiating from you.”

  I bit my lip to hold back a smile as I didn’t want to seem overly excited. As I had learned in the maiden’s class I took last year, women were expected to remain humble and demure when meeting their new husbands.

  “Thank you, Mr. Joseph.” I wanted desperately to tell him I found him equally striking. The wetness seeping from between my legs and onto my drawers was evidence of that. If he were to touch me, he would see for himself.

  “I’ve looked forward to meeting you since the day I saw your picture. You were the purest looking angel amongst all the others. I don’t have much, but I’m proud to have you as my bride.”

  “And I’m proud to have been selected by you, Sir. I look forward to serving you throughout our lives.”

  I heard an animalistic grumbling in his throat, and it sent shivers all through me. He sounded as though he was ready to claim me right away
. And to be honest, I found myself having those same urges.

  “Beautiful and well trained. You will make me very happy, my bride.”

  “Likewise, Sir.”

  He leaned over and pressed his lips to my cheek as his fingers snaked through my hair and along my scalp. It sent rivulets of pleasure shooting down my body.

  The first real kiss would happen at his discretion and his discretion only, but most men chose to wait until the wedding night for the kiss. This was because tongues flicking against each other could lead to uncontrollable urges. Since I had never kissed, I couldn’t speak on the subject. But I did have to admit that feeling his tongue dart inside my mouth was something I now longed for.

  “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”

  “Of course.”

  He took me by the hand and led me outside, towards the rolling hill and trees surrounding the property. He was quiet for a few moments, but every now and then, I would catch him looking my way. I could feel my face heating, wondering what he was thinking. My palm began to sweat against his, and out of courtesy, he dropped it and wrapped an arm around my waist.

  “I appreciate the respect you’ve shown me. And while most men like the title ‘Sir,’ I would prefer you to call me ‘Master’ instead.”

  I glanced his way, those green eyes of his tugging at my core. “Yes. Of course, Master.”

  It was an old school formality, which I could appreciate. If anything, it made me respect him more.

  “I also have expectations of you today. Nothing extraordinary, and I promise that you will be rewarded greatly for all you do.”

  The mystery shrouded in that statement scared me but also thrilled me. “I am here for you, Master. I will do my best to meet your expectations.”

  He squeezed my waist and pulled me close. “Good girl. Now, do you have any questions for me?”

  “I’m allowed to ask questions?” I was trained to not ask anything unless absolutely necessary.