Amish Honeymoon Cruise

He didn't answer; he just lowered his lips to her nipples and started playing with her breasts with his tongue, lips, and teeth, emitting quiet moans.

This is where I have it over her, Mona thought, thinking of the young woman on the other side of the wall. In addition to what she could do with her cunt muscles on his cock, his wife had small tits, albeit firm and perky. Mona could tell that from looking at her these last couple of days, and she would have known it anyway—and would have known what the young man preferred—from how he had shifted his attention from his wife to Mona. He had a breast fetish. He had gone to Mona's tits the moment they'd entered the room. Pulled her shell over her head, unbuttoned her bra as he stood close behind her, and cupped and kneaded her breasts, making animal sounds deep in his throat, as she'd reached around, unzipped him, and stroked his cock. But that had last for mere moments before he had to be inside her.

There had been no verbal proposition, no verbal acceptance. They had both known from the word "hi."

And she knew she still had him now. He was still inside her, still hard. She could feel him starting to move again. In another moment he'd be back in position and would be fucking her again. Ten minutes, tops. That's as much as he needed, and he had the stamina to pump her endlessly, to bring her to orgasm more than once in a fuck. She felt like purring.

But before he could start, she murmured, "No baby, let me show you how much I liked that."

"What?" he said, a bit confused. But when she reached down and grasped his thin waist and indicated she wanted him to move up her body, he did so. He pulled his cock out of her cunt and moved his knees farther up on her torso. She grasped his cock in a hand and buried it between her breasts. With her hands squeezing and moving her breasts, she gave him a tit fuck, sliding her breasts up and down on the cock and moving them around, knowing it would send him to heaven. He was leaning over her and had his arms spread and his palms on the wall behind the bed.

"Oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit," he muttered between gasps. He groaned and moaned for a couple of minutes, reveling in the experience. "No one . . . no woman has ever done that for me before," he murmured.

"And has any woman done this for you before?" she asked as she coaxed his knees up farther on her torso and delicately removed his cock from between her breasts and opened her lips over the shaft.

"Oh fuck, no," he cried out as she gave him expert head. "I've . . . never . . ." He couldn't speak. He was breathing and panting hard and giving little grunts. He laid his cheek against the wall and, almost as if it was involuntarily, began stroking her mouth with the cock.

"Oh, stop. You better stop. I'm gonna come."

"Yes, do," she said, taking the cock out of her mouth. "Come all over my face. It makes a great facial." She swallowed his balls and began to hum and almost immediately he fired off again on her face.

Lying on his back beside her and moaning slightly, Mona leaned over him and cleaned the sweat off his chest with her tongue. She was grasping his cock with one hand as if she felt that as long as she possessed it, he wasn't going anywhere. She let a nipple sway against his side and felt him shuddering at the touch.

Jeremiah was looking straight up at the ceiling, a look of wonder and almost complete satisfaction on his face.

"Is your wife the only other woman you've fucked?" She asked. "It's OK, if so. I just wonder about you Amish."

"Last year . . . last year I went on Rumspringa. To Boston. You know what Rumspringa is?"

"Yes, vaguely, I think. But it's a word I can't remember. Is it a time you can go into the world and experience it and nothing is said as long as you come back and take up the life again?"

"Yes. Some men take that time to drink or smoke—or to have jobs and cars. Or to decide the Amish life isn't for them and not come back."

"And you took it to fuck?"

He laughed and reached over and cupped her breast and thumbed her nipple. It was her turn to shudder now.

"No, not really. I took a job. I'm a blacksmith by training, so I had a job in an art wielding studio. And I had a car. And . . . "

"And?"

"And the head artist in the shop had a wife . . . a bit like you."

"Big breasts?" Mona wasn't guessing all the much, as much as hers seemed to have fascinated and motivated him.

"Yes," he answered in a small voice.

"And that's what attracted you to me?"

"Yes, I guess. But she wasn't really that much like you."

"Oh?"

"You are so . . . so much more. I feel I'm on a second Rumspringa. In truth, I suppose I am."

"I can't figure you Amish out," Mona said. "You seem so religious and fundamentalist and yet you have, built into your customs, a period where young people can go wild—even with sex. Like you and me here. You fuck me like you enjoy sex. You use curse words. You don't do the 'me' and 'thou' speaking I thought you people did."

"We aren't in the Amish community now; Rumspringa must be taken outside of the community," Jeremiah answered. "We mostly speak as others in the outside world when we are not inside the community, and the old speak is not as noticeable as it once was, even in the community. The young people no longer use it between each other—unless an elder is around.

"Some Amish communities are more strict than others. I have just come from my Rumspringa year. Of course when I am fucking you, I will use the language of the fuck. I lose control of what I say. We keep our church ways for the community, and when a person chooses to join with our community of faith, we don't want them to be blind to the choices. We don't want the choice to be an easy one. And as far as sex," he laughed, "the average Amish family has seven children. If not from the husband's loins and the mother's womb, where would you think they sprang? You would be surprised," he said, thinking back on his situation with Rachel, "how much and how early the Amish include sex in their lives. Anyone who says the Amish don't enjoy sex just hasn't counted the children roaming around the community."

"And the beard?" Mona asked reaching up and stroking the chin with its several day's growth. She had luxuriated in the scratchy feel of it on her cheek and breasts. It was a reminder that she had a real man between her thighs. "I almost didn't recognize you from the first day I saw you—the day the ship departed."

"One custom my sect of the church follows," he answered simply. "We grown our beards from the day of our marriage."

"Ah," she murmured, not wanting to get onto the topic of marriage, but thinking that his beard must be growing quickly, as she had heard there was a correlation between hair growth and the release of cum. And then a longer "Ahhh," as he rubbed his cheek and chin on her breasts.

"Thou likes the feel of that?" he asked, then making her gasp as he took a nipple in his mouth and rolled it gently with his teeth.

She knew he was mimicking what she expected from what little she knew of the Amish, but he was driving her crazy with his teeth. Reaching for his cock and enclosing it in her fist, she whispered, "Oh, yes, sweet baby. Yes, Jeremiah. Will thou fuck me again with this lovely cock?"

"My pleasure, ma'am."

He was hard again, and he was reaching for the pillow and moving it to put under the small of Mona's back.

"Is that the only position you know?" she asked, thinking she was making a joke.

"Excuse me?" he answered, a quizzical look on his face.

"The missionary position. Is that the only one you use?"

"It's the Amish way. I don't understand. Fucking is fucking."

"Hardly," she answered dryly. "And this artist's wife didn't ask for anything more than that one position?"

"She enjoyed me enjoying her tits as much as I did—as much as I do yours. She didn't say she cared how I fucked her as long as I was sucking on her tits."

He leaned over and bunched her breasts in his hands, lowered his mouth to her nipples, and, making little mewing sounds, feasted on them.

Mona arched her back and moved a hand down to her folds, finding the clit with the tip of a finger, and moaned at the mere thought of a handsome, hard, young man suckling her.

But when he started to push the pillow under her buttocks again, she repeated her question, "Is the missionary position all you Amish know?"

"I don't understand," he, in turn, repeated.

"Here, let me show you." She gently pushed him flat on the bed. "Now stay on your back."

She started below him, crouched between his knees, taking his cock in her mouth. He was already hard again, but she wanted him moaning hard, which she accomplished in quick order. Then she moved up and straddled his hips and lowered her cunt on his cock. He was looking up at her, his face filled with wonder and lust.

"Give me your hand." She took it and moved his fingers into her folds, finding her clit with it, and showing him that she wanted him to give her attention there. She squeezed her breasts between her hands and kneaded them as he looked up at her. Then she began, slowly, to ride the cock. Shortly, with her still doing the riding, he raised his torso and buried his face in her breasts.

They moved almost seamlessly between the orgasms that proceeded to, at her direction, him up on his knees with his thighs pushed under her buttocks, her knees slightly bent with her legs behind him and feet on the surface of bed, her torso streaming down from his torso to where her shoulder blades rested on the bed in front of him, and, grasping her waist with his hands, he was pulling her on and off his cock.

"There," she whispered between gasps, "you can get deeper into me."

"And you want me deeper inside you?" he asked.

"Always, always deeper. Making us one."

It was mid afternoon before he left, with her promising to show him so much more about sexual pleasures and positions any time he was able to break away from his wife—if and when he came back to her. She had no idea whether what she had done was enough to draw him from his younger, much more beautiful wife.

They had just a day and a half more at sea, and Mona mourned the time they had lost and prayed that he would come back to her again. But if he didn't, she'd had this. This alone had made the cruise worthwhile. Like everyone who has had a good thing, however, she craved more. She craved it all.

She heard the woman—Mrs. Graber—sniffling and whining a bit as they moved down the corridor not long after Jeremiah had left her. She was saying that if she'd had any idea at all that he'd be gone so long, she would have gone to lunch by herself. He was making a comment about how often he found the room steward lurking in the corridor near their cabin, and she said he just didn't appreciate how good the service was on the ship.

* * * *

The intensity of the thumping on the wall that night sent mixed signals to Mona. Either Jeremiah was remorsefully trying to pull himself back to his wife, or his time with Mona had been so hot that his fucking of his wife was intensified by his memory of it.

Mona didn't know enough about Jeremiah to take into account his determination to impregnate his wife with his own babies.

After he had fucked Rachel that night—in the missionary position but now thinking of so many opportunities there were for making love—Jeremiah laid back in the bed and contemplated where he was and what he wanted. He told himself that the pathway with Mona was the path of sin and the devil. He was being tested. Like Joseph, he had been called to take Rachel as his wife even if she was carrying a child that was not hers. He had defiled her as much as Paul had; he was not guiltless. He had been the first to fuck her—or so she'd always told him. She had succumbed to Paul while Jeremiah was off on his Rumspringa. And Jeremiah had not been faithful to Rachel during that period. He was not one to claim she should have been faithful to him in return. The community would hold that to be so, but he didn't agree with the elders in that.

When the cruise was over, he and Rachel would go back to the Amish community near Lancaster. The fling would be over. He needed to accept reality.

He needed to plant babies.

Rachel groaned as he rolled on top of her again, mounted her, and began fiercely pumping her. He was flagging a bit, he could feel it. He was somewhat surprised to realize that his stamina wasn't limitless after all. But he did have cum left to give, and he pumped it inside her before flopping over on his back and thinking, instantly, of . . . Mona's breasts. Laying on his back, bringing his breath back under control, he thought on Mona beyond the tits. He would avoid the woman in the cabin next door. She had been so similar to the woman he had lain with during his Rumspringa that he had allowed himself to be attracted and bold with her. And the tensions had been high between him and Rachel, this possibility of another man's baby, sitting between them. He needed to just let that go.

The next morning he decided a peace offering was needed. He needed to make a gesture, to start healing the rift with Rachel before the chasm opened too wide. She was in the bathroom, saying she wasn't feeling well, but he thought that was just an excuse—that she really didn't want to resume the disagreement that had been worrying their relationship. He said he'd go on to breakfast then and then maybe would explore the ship some more. She said that was fine.

He did so, taking his time with breakfast, then walking the deck around the swimming pool, thinking and planning. He went to the shopping arcade, thinking he'd buy jewelry, which would be frivolous enough to prove how earnest he was, since Rachel would never be able to wear it except for when they were safely alone in their bedroom.

But none of the stores were open yet, and it occurred to him that if he bought anything in the stores, it would appear on his cruise accounting. They didn't take cash. His father, who was paying the bill, would see that he had bought jewelry. That wouldn't work. He went walking again. Outside of the main dining room on deck four, he found a flower cart. Not better than jewelry, but certainly more practical, Jeremiah thought. And not expensive. He would tell his father that he and Rachel had a little misunderstanding and that this had been a small peace offering—both true enough. His father would understand. His father would do much for him now. Paul was his father's favorite son.

He quietly slipped the sea pass card in the door to his cabin, wanting to be as quiet as possible, wanting the flowers to be right in Rachel's face, a complete surprise, when she first saw them.

They were in the center of the cabin, the man—the room steward, Carlos—facing the balcony doors. They both were naked. Carlos was crouching a bit, but changing his stance to provide a new center of gravity as needed as he held Rachel bent over completely at the waist in front of him, arms and head and legs all dangling in front of her, while, hands grasping Rachel's waist, Carlos pulled her fast, hard, and deep on and off his cock.

Carlos was silent, just panting heavily at the exertion, but Rachel was moaning and giving little cries and telling the Brazilian how good he was, how deep he was reaching, how much she loved the feel of him inside her.

After a few moments, Jeremiah withdrew and clicked the cabin door shut. He reached into his pocket for the other sea pass card, the one that Mona had given him, and opened the cabin door next door.

Mona was standing in front of a mirror in the center of the cabin, naked under a silk robe, brushing her luxuriant brunette hair in long, strong strokes.

She turned and smiled at him. "You've come back so soon. And you've brought me flowers."

He was on her in only a few seconds, tossing the flowers aside, pulling his T-shirt over his head and dropping his shorts and briefs. When he reached her, he spun her around facing away from him, stripped her of the robe, and clutched a breast with one hand and her triangle with another. Mona laughed and reached around for his cock while he buried his face in the hollow of her neck.

She gave a little cry as he thrust three fingers up her cunt and lifted her body off the floor. She was much shorter and lighter than he was, and it was no strain for him to suspend her in the air. If Carlos could do it with Rachel, he knew he could do it with Mona.

After a few minutes of heavy breathing and panting, he moved his hand holds to her waist, growled, "Bend over; go limp." He lifted her body into the air again.

Mona obeyed him, flopping forward at the waist, letting her arms, head, pendulous breasts, and legs dangle in front of her. Crouching slightly, Jeremiah set his legs, and Mona gave a little scream as he thrust his cock up into her cunt and started pulling her hard up and down on the cock as she was suspended in front of him, completely off the floor.

"Oh . . . my . . . God!" she cried out. "How did you learn this position? Oh, shit, I love it. Baby, baby, baby, take charge, take me completely, fuck me hard!"

"Shut the fuck up and take it," he growled.

She quieted down, concentrating on the cock plumbing her depths deep with her totally incapacitated like a rag doll. He was being rougher with her than yesterday. But she hadn't decided she didn't like this more commanding side of him. And he'd come back to her. The very next morning.

After he had ejaculated and lowered her to the bed and come down beside her, Jeremiah began to cool down. He told her of nothing being wrong, only that he wanted to spend the day with her, and her alone. They ordered their meals in and Mona spent the rest of the day instructing him in new sex positions and games and luxuriating in how young, virile, fit he was and how often he could harden and fire off and hold a hard.

This was what she'd come for. A young, eager, ever-hard cock.

* * * *

Rachel was standing on the balcony of her cabin on the Glory of the Seas the next morning. The ship had docked at the Baltimore pier an hour and a half earlier. It was time she was going down to the fourth deck to leave the ship. They had collected the suitcase the previous night. She couldn't wait too much longer. Dressed again in her signature Amish clothes, she was sniffing into a handkerchief.

After leaving the previous morning, Jeremiah had not come back. His Amish clothes were laid out on the bed, waiting for a man who hadn't appeared. He'd need to change into those before they went down. Their families were coming all of the way to Baltimore to meet the ship. She'd have to leave in just a few minutes. And the time was coming when she'd have to report his absence to someone. Could he have? Would he have? Had he fallen or jumped off the ship? Was their circumstance that hard for him to bear? She was sure she hadn't gotten pregnant from Paul. Not now when Jeremiah had plowed her like he had. Now she knew how it should feel, she thought. Now she was pregnant. And it was Jeremiah's. She would have told him that last night if he'd returned to the cabin.

She felt her belly through the material of the dress, as sure now as she ever could be, that Paul's seed hadn't taken and Jeremiah's had. Jeremiah had sown enough seed to populate the world. The room steward, Carlos, had worn a condom. All three times.

And now she was ready. Carlos was just a fling—there, hard, hot, sympathetic, and unjudging. The trysts with him stemmed from her being upset with Jeremiah, just as those with Paul—and the others—had stemmed from Jeremiah going off on his Rumspringa year and so easily leaving her behind. Carlos was mainly a matter of being seduced into something other than that dull missionary position the Amish women had to endure. If only Jeremiah would . . . But the Brazilian couldn't hold a candle to Jeremiah's fucking, how completely his cock could possess her. Neither could Paul. Rachel was sure she could settle in with Jeremiah as long as he kept plowing her like he could.