All Yours (An Erotica Collection) のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

Mia Ellis had never felt more out of place in her twenty-two years.The moving truck rumbled away down the quiet cul-de-sac, leaving her standing on the driveway of her new rental house with the last box in her arms.A small, pastel-blue bungalow at the end of a dead-end street in a peaceful Seattle suburb.Perfect for a fresh start.Away from her overprotective parents.Away from the small town where everyone knew she’d never even been kissed.She set the box down and wiped sweat from her forehead.August heat shimmered off the asphalt.Across the shared driveway, the neighboring house loomed—modern, two-story, all glass and clean lines.Three trucks parked in front.Three very large men unloading what looked like gym equipment.She tried not to stare.Failed.They were… overwhelming.All mid-to-late thirties, built like they lived at the gym.The first—tallest, broad-shouldered, with dark hair cropped short and a neatly trimmed beard—lifted a massive weight bench like it was made of

Mia’s second week in the Daddies house felt like stepping into a dream she never wanted to wake from—one where every moment was wrapped in warmth, safety, and the kind of love she’d only ever fantasized about.The rules were simple, loving, and absolute—written in their own handwriting on pretty pastel paper and framed in a white distressed frame above her coloring desk in the playroom.Always call us Daddy (Cole, Grant, or Marcus when specifying). Ask permission for sweets, screen time over two hours, or leaving the house alone. Bedtime at 10:00 p.m. on weeknights—story and cuddles mandatory. Chores earn stars—ten stars mean a special reward chosen together. Misbehavior earns corner time or spanking—always followed by cuddles and forgiveness. Honesty always. Safewords anytime (red/yellow/green). You are cherished, protected, and adored—every single day.She read it every morning while sipping her juice at the little table they’d set up for her in the kitchen, and every ti

Mia’s virginity had become a quiet, unspoken focal point in the house—a delicate thread woven through every touch, every kiss, every late-night cuddle.The Daddies never pressured her.They worshiped her body daily—mouths tracing lazy patterns on her skin, fingers exploring with patience, toys introduced slowly to teach her pleasure in new ways.They brought her to peak after peak, night after night, until she was addicted to the way they made her feel.But they always stopped short of taking that final step.Always pulled back when she tensed or whimpered “wait.”Always asked “Color?” and listened.Always held her after, whispering how proud they were, how perfect she was, how they’d wait forever if that is what she needed.By the end of her second month as their little girl, the ache had grown unbearable.Not just physical.Emotional.She wanted them inside her.She wanted to feel completely claimed.But the thought of choosing one first—of giving her virginity to just one Daddy whi

Two years had woven themselves into the fabric of their lives like the softest blanket—warm, unbreakable, and made just for them. Mia stood barefoot in the backyard garden they’d spent months transforming into their own private fairytale. Arches draped in climbing roses and wisteria formed a natural aisle. Fairy lights twinkled in the trees even though the sun hadn’t fully set yet. A small white gazebo waited at the end, decorated with white tulle and fresh peonies—her favorite. She wore a flowing white dress they’d chosen together on a weekend trip to a little boutique in Portland. Simple, lace-trimmed, with a sweetheart neckline and layers of chiffon that swished softly when she moved. The skirt skimmed her five-month baby bump—visible now, a gentle roundness that made her glow. No veil. Just the collar. Upgraded for today… delicate white gold chain with three interlocking rings, each engraved with a Daddy’s initial—C, G, M—linked forever. A small diamond heart dangled at the

Lila’s first night in Nikolai Volkov’s compound passed in a blur of exhaustion and hyper-awareness. The room they gave her was luxurious—a guest suite on the second floor of the sprawling Westchester estate. King bed with silk sheets, en-suite marble bathroom, even a small balcony overlooking snow-dusted pines. But the door locked from the outside. And the collar stayed on. She’d showered—hot water easing the tension in her shoulders—but sleep came in fits, haunted by pale gray eyes and the click of that buckle. Morning brought no reprieve. A soft knock at 8:00 a.m. sharp. She opened the door to find a woman—mid-forties, severe bun, black dress—waiting with a tray. Breakfast: black coffee, yogurt with berries, a single croissant. The woman introduced herself as Irina—house manager—and informed Lila that Nikolai expected her downstairs in thirty minutes. “Dress comfortably,” Irina said, eyes flicking to the collar. “He has plans.” Plans. Lila ate mechanically, dressed in t