A Peasant Girl – Chapter 12 by St. Bobo

“I haven’t got all day,” said the witch Peshka derisively as Anna’s father slowly, almost shyly, removed his clothes. Amazingly, Sergei Ivanovich seemed to be uncomfortable with the idea of fucking in front of the crone; it was like her touch on his genitals had unnerved him. Anna could see the witch’s eyes darting over his naked body, but the old woman was too skilled to let on what she was thinking.

Anna lay back and waited for the inevitable penetration. Then she was shocked to hear her father’s voice cracking. “I… I can’t do it while you watch. Your eyes are turning me to stone.”

“You’re as bad as a woman,” said Peshka with a harsh laugh. “You think it is something I haven’t seen before? I cannot help you unless I see the act.”

“Look at my manhood, look how you shrivel it with your stare,” protested Sergei Ivanovich. “How do I know your touch didn’t do something to me? How do I know…”

“My touch did something to you all right,” cackled Peshka. “Your little man stood up for me then. Perhaps your mistake is in trying to sire on a slip of a girl. Maybe your heart isn’t in it. Maybe you want a woman, not a child.”

“Until you arrived, I had no problem sticking it to the whelp, and filling her womb too,” said Anna’s father, angrily. “My mind and my heart are set on swelling her belly with my son, and no one else’s.”

“Then if you don’t want my help…” trailed off the witch suggestively.

“I want the help, but not the audience.”

“Then let me help you.” Anna was surprised to see the witch get to her knees in front of Sergei Ivanovich and begin skillfully taking him into her mouth. At her touch, Sergei Ivanovich shrank back but she was relentless, and soon, far sooner than Anna had hoped, his shaft was hard in the witch’s mouth. “So I am not an audience,” crowed Peshka. “Now mount her before I lose my patience completely.”

Anna’s father seemed like a man possessed; he numbly did as he was told. Climbing between Anna’s legs, he slowly inserted his entire hard length into her, then paused as if waiting for instructions. “Go on,” Peshka nodded. Sergei Ivanovich took his daughter firmly by the hips and began thrusting his pelvis against hers, building up a rhythm which teased Anna with moments of pleasure even as it revolted her. The head of his cock tickled her deepest spaces, and she felt the cool hand of the witch as she wrapped Anna’s legs firmly around Sergei Ivanovich’s back.

“Bring your knees back to your chest, girl,” said Peshka, and Anna reached down and with her arms drew her legs back until her feet rested under her father’s chest.

“By all the saints, she tightens,” said Sergei Ivanovich breathlessly, slowing his thrusts momentarily. Then he stopped completely. “What in the Devil’s name are you doing, witch?” he shouted, nearly pulling out of Anna’s well-used opening.

“Helping you,” Peshka said from behind him.

“Your fingers… the Lord said it was a sin…”

“Quiet, fool,” said the witch, not unkindly. “I am not a man, am I? It is not another man inside you.” Anna realized that the witch must be putting a finger into Sergei Ivanovich’s anus. “It will make your seed more vigorous,” said Peshka with finality. “Now keep thrusting and don’t stop for foolishness.”

Anna’s father began again, slowly at first, then with renewed vigor. “By Saint Stefen, the witch is right,” he said, half to himself, but half to Anna, who was stoically clasping her knees to her chest beneath him. “It quickens in my loins even now. Make ready, little mother! I think this might be the time!” He gasped this last and jammed his shaft deep inside his daughter to begin to splash her womb with fierce blasts of jism, which kept coming until she lost feeling inside her. The pressure on her body was intense and it built until she was shocked to find that pleasure ran through her, and she grabbed hold of it and tried to lose herself in its clutches.

When she came back to herself, her father was seated beside her on the bed and Peshka was examining them both. “She should keep on her back afterward,” said the witch. “And you should keep inside her for a time after as well.” She ran a finger over Anna’s hole, collecting a few drops of what must have been a flood. “I cannot get over the taste of you both, how similar it is,” said Peshka. “But I do not think that is the problem. I think the problem is with you.” She pointed at Anna’s father. “You have fathered before, but so long ago I wonder if the seed remembers how to do its work.”

“I am as healthy as any man…”

“Foolish,” interrupted Peshka with a dismissive wave. “You might try for years before she got with child. If she was fertile always, it might happen, but she is not. She has her peaks and valleys, like any woman. And there is the problem of her, as well. She is untested. Perhaps she was taken too young.”

“Make up your mind, woman!” spat Anna’s father. “Is the girl fertile or not? Will she bear for me or not?”

“You could try for a long time and damage her,” said Peshka in a clinical tone. Anna felt damaged already. “You say your son had her first. Perhaps he should get her with child.”

“No!” shouted Sergei Ivanovich. “My son has a wife of his own; he cannot share mine.”

“Then you must keep trying, or find another, perhaps a proven mother,” said the witch, gathering her cloak around her and preparing to leave. “This one will bear, but perhaps not for you. That is my final word.” So saying, she left Anna and her father naked in the room.

“I should have known,” said Sergei Ivanovich in a low growl. “My son. My son should get you with child. My seed is old. It’s all just old wife’s garbage!” He stormed out, calling behind him, “The witch says stay on your back. I’ll be back when my strength returns. You will have my child.”

It seemed, however, that the witch was wrong. Anna’s bleeding did not come on schedule and Sergei Ivanovich grew cautiously optimistic. Each day when Anna did not bleed, he kept her in bed, fucking her more gently now that it was possible that she was with child. “It may simply be God toying with me,” he would mutter to himself, but Anna could tell. She was carrying her father’s child. It shredded her inside, brought up pain she had thought she was immune to by now.

After another week even her father agreed. He called Peshka back, supposedly to check on the mother, but in reality just so he could crow that she was wrong. She sniffed Anna’s cunt, made a cross over her, and said, “I never said never. I said perhaps. The child will not be healthy, you should know this.”

“What do you mean, not healthy?”

“She is too young, you are too old, and she is obviously your kin. A winter conception bodes poorly in any case, but all these things combined… the child will be sickly, if it lives at all. You want my advice, you will end it before she dies too.” Peshka nodded to Anna. “The birth may well be her death and the child’s, and then you will be without either.”

But Sergei Ivanovich kicked Peshka out and came back to Anna. “What does the witch know anyway?” he said, half to himself. She thought you would never get with child in the first place. Now roll over; I want to give you a present for being such a good little mother.”

Anna rolled, guessing what the present would be. Her father laughed and pulled out his cock, which was stiff from the excitement of it. He had wanted this, Anna knew, and now that he had it he would never let it go, not if it meant her death. His manhood drove into her cunt forcefully, and she gasped as it bottomed out inside her. “We’ll have to make sure you’re nice and wide for my son’s passage,” her father said behind her. “And when he grows, little mother, he’ll take over for me on the farm, in town, and in bed. You’ll like that, won’t you little mother? Your son giving you babies too? His little boy cock stuffing your whore cunt full.” As he talked, he drove into her. “And I won’t have to stop fucking you for nine whole months,” he crowed. “No more bleeding for you, little mother.”

Anna began to swell, which drove her father crazy with desire. He made sure she had the best food he could buy, but though he didn’t make her work, he wouldn’t let her wear clothes at all. He seemed to like to see his daughter filling up with his child, her breasts swelling and drooping, her belly growing. Anna could see the changes too, but they did nothing but cause her pain. The sickness, not just in the mornings but all day sometimes, the constipation, the need to piss at any time with no warning, all compounded to drive the knife that was her father’s baby inside her deeper into her heart.

And she thought of Noor too, wondered where she might be, why she had not come back. Anna wondered if Noor would be able to love her now that she was carrying her father’s child, and that thought that she might not made Anna weep. Many things made Anna weep now.

One day her father brought her brother and his wife to the house, and Anna expected that he would give her clothes to wear. But her father simply showed his son in to Anna’s room. “She’s glowing with it,” he said, glowing a little himself.

“We’re trying for our second,” said Vladimir. “Carrying suits Ilona, and we want to have another son.” It was the first Anna had heard of her nephew.

“Ah, but this will be my son and my grandson,” said Sergei Ivanovich.

“She does look good carrying,” acknowledged Anna’s brother, leering at her a little. “I could take her right now.”

“Not now,” said her father, looking angry. “She’s got to rest up.”

They went out and downstairs, but Anna could hear them arguing. After a minute Ilona came in, cradling a baby in her arms. “So it’s true,” she said, shaking her head slowly as if she didn’t believe it. “With your father’s child?” Anna couldn’t say it; she just nodded. “I wondered why we hadn’t seen you,” said Ilona. “You’ve never even seen little Vladimir.”

“No, Father kept me in the house,” said Anna as if the explanation was necessary.

“They are so jealous of one another,” said Ilona. “Vladimir wants two sons so he can show up his old man. He’s been taking me constantly, even with little Vladimir in my arms. I fear… I fear that when my sons grow up, Vladimir will turn them against me too.”

“At least they are not your father’s sons,” said Anna, but saying that brought tears to her eyes because she knew the fear that Ilona verbalized. “He says… he wants a son so his son and mine can take over. In all ways, Ilona.”

“I will pray for you,” said Ilona, as if she had nothing else to say. She left quietly, and Anna lay back and stared at the ceiling, praying too. She prayed for death to overtake her, to free her from her torment, to keep the baby growing within her innocent of the world into which it would be born.

Sergei Ivanovich decided that he wanted to show Anna off again, now that she was having his son. He took her to town with him, like a doll on his arm. They were noticed, and people wondered who Sergei Ivanovich’s new child bride was. If there was suspicion, it was quiet, and after all, a man’s business is his own. Anna’s father didn’t take her to church, because he was a superstitious man, but he let her go offer prayers for the health of the child. She prayed for deliverance, but didn’t say a word to the priests.

Sergei Ivanovich also took Anna to visit his son, because he enjoyed showing her off there even more. Ilona was not pregnant, so Vladimir beat her out of jealousy. He hated his father for lording it over him, and he desired Anna but could not have her. Sergei Ivanovich even made it a point to bring Anna in revealing clothes, and as spring arrived the weather warmed and the clothes became more and more revealing.

They visited for evening meals often, and one evening at the table Anna’s father and brother were arguing as they usually did. “Anna has always been an obedient bitch at my feet,” said Sergei Ivanovich. “She would do anything I asked.”

“And yet you want my wife too,” said Vladimir, bringing up a constant source of tension between the two. “When I cut you off, you could have chewed through iron. Anna may be obedient, but she’s no match to Ilona. Once Anna drops the child from her saggy cunt, you’ll see how much enjoyment you get out of her.”

“Your bitch has had a child out of her already,” said her father. “She’s stretched out too. You’ll leave her for a younger bit of tail.”

“You can’t get a younger bit of tail,” said Vladimir. He had risen and was spitting his words at his father, who was also rising. “Give it up, old man. You’re just jealous because you’ve got to fuck your own daughter.”

“I don’t have to, I want to,” said Sergei Ivanovich, his face reddening. “You do too, admit it! She’s plumping up with my son and you can’t think of anything else but sticking your cock in her. I never saw you complaining when she was all you had.”

“She was never all I had!”

“Why should I let you fuck her?”

“Why shouldn’t you?”

“Jealous?”

“No, you’re jealous!”

“Enough!” thundered Anna’s father. “I’ll prove to you that she’s all I say. Anna, get naked and on my cock. Right here. If you’re not jealous, you won’t have any problem with that.”

Anna thought was a deep part of her mind that it was true, she was obedient. She thought this as she was slipping her blouse over her head and dropping her skirt to the floor. She was wearing no underwear, and she obediently and without thought went over and stood in front of her father, who had pulled his trousers down and was stroking his cock while glaring across the table at Vladimir, who was livid. “On the table,” said Sergei Ivanovich, roughly clearing a spot and pushing her back onto it. Her breasts bounced and her brother, despite his rage, couldn’t help but be drawn to look at his sister, lying back on his dining table preparing to take her father’s cock between her legs.

The cock was quick in coming. It plunged into her passage as her father roughly grabbed her hips and drew her to him. Her breasts, swollen but still small, swayed, and her hair fluttered as the table bounced with the force of his thrust. Anna’s eyes met her brother’s and stared, as if it was nothing, just routine, which of course it was.

Sergei Ivanovich fucked his pregnant daughter’s cunt for a few minutes more, and Vladimir was obviously jealous. “You can’t have her, boy,” said her father roughly, grunting the words as he pressed himself into her. “She’s all mine, and her son will be mine too. Your cow of a wife can’t compete.” Anna heard the words and was shocked. Surely her father didn’t value her at all. But she realized that he did value her, but only as his property. This wasn’t love, neither his nor her brother’s jealousy or lust. They didn’t love her, ever.

She obediently slid from the table when her father commanded it, and took his cock in her mouth as he sat back down to continue dinner. “You didn’t want her at all?” he asked. Vladimir didn’t respond at first, but then Anna heard him sit down too.

“Old man, two can play at your games,” he said. “Ilona, get in here and bring little Vlad. I want to show my father how much he can’t have.”

Ilona came in, cautiously, her left eye bruised, carrying her baby. “Take off your blouse,” instructed Vladimir, and Ilona carefully shifted her baby around until she had removed her shirt. Anna could see out of the corner of her eye that Ilona’s breasts and body were fatter, rounder than they had been. She was no longer pregnant, but she still looked it. “See those breasts, old man,” growled Vladimir. “Those breasts suckle my son, and you can’t have them. Take off your skirt.” He addressed this last to Ilona, who gingerly slipped it off. She was wearing no underpanties either, probably because she had to be at her husband’s beck and call to try and produce another son for him. “Her ass has gotten a little bigger, true, but it’s still tight.” Vladimir slapped Ilona on the ass and she winced in pain but did not make any other sound, afraid of what he might do to her. “But you’ll never know, old man, because you can’t have her. Little Vlad will have her, though. Your grandson will have her long after you’re dead. Think on that, old man. I don’t notice you with any other girls, just your daughter. I could have a girl over here in ten minutes, and make this bitch sit and watch me. You know nothing of obedience.”

Anna’s father’s cock had, despite her ministrations, shrunk as her brother said these things, and now Sergei Ivanovich rose in fury. “No, I know obedience, because that’s what a father is supposed to get from his son!” he shouted. “I gave you life, I should be able to have anything of yours! If I wanted your cow, I should be able to have her! If I want to dash your whelp’s brains out on the wall, you should let me and thank me for it! You ungrateful…” His words were cut off as Vladimir punched him.

Anna hid under the table and heard rather than saw the struggle going on above. The two men crashed into walls, into chairs, smashed china and spilled food and drink to the floor. Then there was a great smash, a thud, and Anna looked out horrified to see the staring eyes of her brother lying on the floor beside her. His face was bloody and more blood came from his head, pooled on the ground and reached out toward her. He was dead.

Terrified, she scrambled out, away from the blood and the body, and heard screaming in the kitchen. It was two voices, Ilona and little Vladimir. She rushed in to find the baby on the floor, forgotten for the moment, and her father roughly dragging Ilona by the hair over to the table. Anna couldn’t move; she was in shock. She watched the scene unfold as if from far away: her father pulling out his cock, driving it without comment into Ilona’s struggling backside, clouting her hard when she tried to escape, fucking her feverishly like he was proving something. He didn’t see her, didn’t see anything but the woman screaming under him, didn’t feel anything but the rough slapping of flesh, the tension of a terrified cunt. Anna slowly, without really contemplating the result, knelt beside the crying baby and lifted it into her arms, gingerly shushed its crying. But she couldn’t turn away.

Eventually Sergei Ivanovich cried out, a harsh, guttural noise, and stilled deep in Ilona’s cunt, and Anna could imagine the thick, ropey jets of semen spewing into her. Ilona was too hurt to cry, to scream, to do anything more than slump over the table as her father-in-law pulled out. “Anna, clean me up,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world to say. She obeyed, tasting blood, sweat, and semen on his cock. He didn’t seem to notice that she was holding the baby. “Come on, I’ve grown tired of being in this house of ingrates,” her father said finally. “Give the whelp back to his mother. By rights I should smash his head in, teach my bastard son a lesson. When he comes to, he’ll know I had my way with the cow.”

“Father…” began Anna, not sure why she was even speaking.

“Shut up, girl, get your things,” he growled.

The walk home was dreadful. Anna was horrified when her father dragged her off the road outside of town and roughly pulled her skirt up. “The cow wasn’t enough,” he laughed harshly. “No wonder he’s jealous. You, little mother, you’re better than that.” He plunged his cock into her, but all she could see was the dead eyes of her brother staring at her in a pool of blood. She didn’t realize when he had finished, and he dragged her up again roughly, then threw her down to clean him.

When they got home, Sergei Ivanovich went to bed, shockingly, leaving Anna alone with her thoughts. Or with only one thought. Her father had killed her brother, and he didn’t even know.

In the morning, Anna wasn’t surprised when she was awakened with a slap and a cock in the face. She was used to it. But as her father flipped her over in the bed and got behind her, there was a knocking at the door.

The rest of the day was a blur. The soldiers came and took her father away. If anyone saw her, or cared that she was there, they didn’t make a sign. And then Anna was alone again. She hadn’t heard anything they were saying, or the things her father screamed as they dragged him out. She didn’t know where he was being taken, or what they would do to him. She didn’t know whether she was finally free or if someone else would come to enslave her. She simply went back to her bed, lay down, and sobbed wildly, without knowing what she was crying for, until she slept again.

“Wake up, beautiful one,” said a voice in the darkness. Anna knew the voice, but couldn’t believe it.

“Noor?”

“Yes, I’m here,” came the horsemaid’s laugh.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

“I was afraid.” This came hard for the horsemaid. Anna could hear it in her voice. “Yes, I admit. I left you because I was afraid. Your father would have killed me.”

“I know,” said Anna. “I was afraid he had.”

“I should not have run,” said the horsemaid slowly. “I should have stayed. But then perhaps he would have killed us both.”

“He killed my brother,” said Anna, and the words finally brought it to the front. Her father had killed her brother. The weight of it hit her like a stone, and she gasped.

“Then you are rid of them both,” said Noor softly. “You can finally come away with me.”

“No, I can’t,” said Anna. “Because you won’t have me.”

“Why would I not have you?”

“I’m with child.”

“Then we shall raise it together.”

“No, with his child.” Anna was devastated admitting this. “I should die. God will strike me down for the sin of it.”

Noor was silent, and Anna was afraid she had already run away again. “What does it matter whose child it is?” she said finally.

“But God, the church, my mother… I am nothing but sin!”

“The sin is to blame yourself, blame the child, for things over which you had no control,” said Noor softly, and then Anna felt her lips brushing against Anna’s cheek. “We will love the child for who we are, not who your father is.”

“I’m afraid,” said Anna.

“I am too,” confessed Noor, her lips brushing further down, the breath of her words playing softly against Anna’s shoulder. Anna could feel the horsemaid ease into bed beside her, and then her strong arms wrapped around Anna and held her close. “But I love you too much, and I can’t run away again. If your father returned now, if we heard him walking up the stairs to us, I would rise up and stand and face him. We could both rise up and face him.”

“He hurt me too much, he owns me, I couldn’t face him,” said Anna sadly. “If he came in right now, I would do anything he said if he promised not to hurt you, beloved.”

Noor’s hands stroked Anna’s skin lightly, running down over her swollen stomach to rest between her legs. “I would die before he hurt you again,” she said. “Because you cannot be his. I have claimed you, and you are Anna No-Horse.” She slipped her finger up into Anna’s passage, and unlike any other penetration this was nothing but love. “Your child is mine too. This minute, I have blessed her.”

“Father said it would be his son…”

“No, it will be a beautiful daughter, like her mother. And I will teach her to ride, and we three will ride the world together.” The caress inside Anna was like a benediction, but it also aroused her, and she turned her head and kissed Noor squarely on the mouth. Her own hands stroked the horsemaid’s firm breasts, ran down and slipped over her taut buttocks. The two were side by side, facing and stroking and kissing, and when Anna’s climax rushed through her, Noor slipped down and began suckling slowly at her swollen breasts while still gently stroking her insides. Anna felt the baby kick as the climax ended.

Sergei Ivanovich was to be shot the next day. The town knew what he had done, and though the church preached forgiveness, they didn’t preach it terribly hard in this case. Noor had gone to town for food, since Anna and her new baby couldn’t leave the house. The two girls had decided to wait a while after the birth, which was hard on mother and child, before joining Noor’s family on the steppe.

“I should see him before he dies,” said Anna, slowly. “He is my father.”

“He’s a monster,” said Noor with a hateful glare in the direction of the jail. “I can’t let you see him.”

But in the end, Anna went. She brought the baby and went to the square an hour before the time set. There was already a crowd, but those who knew her made way for her, but they kept an eye on her as if they expected her to rush forward and fling herself at his feet.

He was a bedraggled figure, looking older than Anna remembered, and she found that she no longer feared him. The months he had been away, the months with Noor, and her new baby, had removed any connection she felt with him. She didn’t wave, didn’t call his attention to her, just watched silently as he was blindfolded. He mumbled something when asked for his last words, then the saber fell, the shots rang out, and he dropped.

“See,” she said quietly to her daughter, and Noor’s. “There’s nothing he can do to hurt you now.”

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