Honeymoon Pt. 01

Choosing wine was the furthest thing from my mind, and I accepted his choice. He calmly ordered as I breathed heavily in the near-darkness and wondered how he could be so calm despite the raging hardness I knew throbbed between his thighs.

When the waiter had gone, he quietly moved his chair to my side. Once again his hand slid easily up to my hot, oozing crotch, and a finger slide quietly inside me. I moaned involuntarily, but I caught myself before I got too loud. I "suffered" in silence as he probed my moist cavity, occasionally flicking my distended clitoris and spreading my moisture all over the insides of my thighs. When the wine arrived he kept one hand where it was and used the other to sample the beverage. When he signaled his approval, the waiter poured us each a glass. I was sure he glanced down at the place where my husband's hand disappeared under the tablecloth. Once the waiter was gone, I lifted my glass to my lips took a sip. As I swallowed, he probed my pussy. "Has a nice bite to it, don't you think?"

"Oh, yes, indeed it does," I gasped, as the warmth from the wine and from my joyful clitoris spread through my overheated body. "Warm and mellow, yet...unh! playful and mischievous." I clutched his probing finger inside myself and made him work to remove it. "Not to mention how nice it feels inside me."

"Just wait till you try it in combination with the meat," he said.

Well, this was just a bit too much. I burst out laughing, my cunt squeezing forcefully and suddenly enough to expel his finger. He laughed, too, his eyes suddenly full of mischief and love and happiness.

We ordered steaks to complement the wine. I couldn't believe how red and bloody he liked his meat, but it was dark and I spent more time looking at him than at either of our plates.

A gooey dessert had us lasciviously sucking the syrupy sweetness off each other's fingers with increasingly obvious symbolism. By the time the meal ended and he paid the check, my newlywed pussy was awash in my own juices. I felt them squishing as we walked to the door. On the elevator ride we were accompanied by three strangers, but we stood at the back, where my groom reached up my dress and fondled my bare buttocks. His hand slid down to the base of my asscheeks where he discovered the extent of my wetness. Meanwhile, I had found his swollen cock through his slacks and was pumping it quietly but mercilessly, heedless of the wet spot I felt forming at its tip.

I thought we would both leap in bed once we reached the privacy of our room, but then, we realized, there was no hurry whatsoever. We had the rest of our lives. He suggested a shower; I agreed. I wanted to be fresh for my wedding night, even though it was my groom who had "unfreshened" me so effectively. But he had not suggested "showers." It was to be one single shower. Mmm, delicious.

We both stripped naked without ceremony. He gallantly started the water running to be sure it was at the right temperature, and then we both stepped into the roomy shower stall. We embraced and kissed in the wide, warm stream, and then he took a bar of soap and began to rub it along my back, using his other hand to spread the suds around and massage my surprisingly tense muscles. While he was massaging the small of my back, the he slid the soap down into my ass crack and insinuated it smoothly into my asshole. It felt wonderful, but not as wonderful as the fingers that followed. He turned me around, and I could feel his hard penis throbbing up against my back; his soap and his fingers worked their magic on my large, turgid pink nipples, my belly, my inner thighs, and then...oh, THEN...my pussy, my flowing, hairy, soapy-slick cunt.

I wanted so much to come right there. I writhed against his hand, against the phallus-like bar of soap, but by now he knew me well enough to know how to do so much and no more, how to bring me to the edge of orgasm and then make me wait for it, beg for it. I was completely lathered up, from neck to knees. He put the soap back into its dish and used just his hands and fingers all over me. He squeezed my nipples with pressure that ordinarily would have caused pain, but with all the soap on them, they just slipped tantalizingly out of his fingers. His hands also found their way into my anus, into my vagina, up and down my back, and he pulled me to him once again so that his penis was pressed against my stomach and his tongue was pressed against my throat. I felt the glow of orgasm just beginning deep inside me.

Then he reached for the soap again and handed it to me. "Your turn," he said.

"Oh, you are evil," I gasped, taking the soap and turning to him. I soaped up his chest, paying special attention to his nipples, which were as stiff as mine, and, I knew, even more sensitive. I moved to his crotch, where his penis was protruding deliciously, and soaped his shaft and his balls, his entire package throbbing and shifting under my fingers. I reached behind his scrotum and stimulated the area that led into the crack between his buttocks. I turned him around then, moved back up to his back, down to his waist, to his buttocks, than finally into his anus, so warm and tight, letting the foaming soap act as lubrication and cleanser. I moved on down his thighs, knees, calves and shins, his feet. Then I took the hand-held shower and rinsed him off, again letting the spray do much of its work on his most sensitive areas. I bent down to lick his shaft and was rewarded with a thick, clear, tasty oozing. I knelt, the shower's floor tiles hard on my knees, and took him into my mouth for just a couple of strokes, reveling in the taste of his lubricating juices and in the sexual power we had over each other. "Turn around," I said. "Put your hands against the wall."

With his sexy ass in front of me, I parted his cheeks and moved my tongue to his anus, bringing a groan from him. I probed further, and he protested, "Dee, honey, oh God, you'll bring me off too soon, oh, fuck..."

But I didn't bring him off. I stood and turned him around and we kissed hard and deep. He rinsed the soap off my body, and we dried each other carefully and tenderly, neither wanting to bring the other to orgasm just yet, though we were close, so close. His penis was proudly pulsating and pumping out occasional drops of thick clear goodness that hung suspended in a string from his peehole, and I was warm and wet and willing for something or anything to enter my hot moistness; the slick syrup starting to slide down my thighs made it obvious that it wouldn't take much to send me over the edge.

He started to guide me to the bed, and I almost forgot my nightgown. I was fairly certain it would seem silly to him at this point, but I had bought it especially for this night, and I was determined to wear it, if only for a few seconds. I gently extricated myself from his grasp and pulled the flimsy garment out of my suitcase. I held it in front of me—he could probably see me through it—and did a kind of reverse striptease for him. I let him see the gown full length (mid-thigh length, actually) with its scooped neckline and shoulder straps decorated with tiny rosettes. I held it against my body so he could see my nipples protruding through the filmy fabric, then pulled it slowly over my head, down to my shoulders, over my breasts (though this part went more slowly and teasingly), over my waist, my hips, my flaming red-haired sex, and over the tops of my thighs. I pulled in snugly in all directions so he could see that though it covered much, it hid little. "I think a bride should wear white," I said, and turned to climb onto the bed, knowing he could see my wet fiery pussy and my rear as I did so. I rolled to my back, spread my legs, and he was on me, and in me, and heaven was right there in that bed. We fucked vigorously for a few minutes, both of us ready to come but neither of wanting it to end.

I sensed my orgasm beginning deep inside me and spreading out from between my legs to the tips of my toes to the ends of my fingers to the nubs of my nipples to the very end of each and every hair on my head. I was grunting and moaning and screaming obscenities—loving ones—and he was groaning wordlessly and spurting his sweet manhood up into me over and over and over. I went on coming for some time after he was finished, and he continued to love me and hold me and whisper sweet naughties in my ear as I writhed and twitched and went into spasm after spasm, my pussy sliding effortlessly along his still hard shaft until he actually came another time

and we both collapsed, turned on our sides facing each other, and drifted to sleep, my leg up around his waist, our combined fluids dripping sweetly from my pussy to make a wonderfully fragrant wet spot on the fine hotel sheets.

"I love you, Charlie."

"I love you, Dee."

"See you tomorrow."

"I'll be here."