Honeymoon Pt. 03

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Revelation of a past life; possibility for a future one.
5k words
4.56
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Part 3 of the 3 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 10/04/2014
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Part 3: Honeymoon Haven

We overslept the next day and were like zombies as we tried to get packed up and checked out in time to drive to the next and final destination of our wedding trip. The clerk in the office—a woman about my age—smiled when she saw me and said, "Well, I haven't seen you for a while. You two know how to do a honeymoon! " I looked at her expecting to see a smirk on her face, but she seemed genuinely friendly and just a little bit envious. I smiled at her as I blushed, Charlie paid our bill, and we were on our way.

We played less on this trip; somehow having had a couple of days to ourselves in the cabin had sated some of our more unconventional passions, and we were content simply to drive through the countryside, enjoying and commenting on the scenery and making chitchat about our jobs and all the catching up we would have to do once the honeymoon was over. On one occasion I did put my feet up on the dashboard, letting my dress fall down to expose my thighs and running my fingers over my bare pussy; I enjoyed the cool air on my wet twat, and I also enjoyed watching the swelling in his pants as he tried unsuccessfully to keep his eyes on the road. But for the most part we behaved like the middle-aged married couple we were.

But it wasn't over yet. I had arranged the first part, the rural retreat; Charlie had arranged a slightly more urban conclusion to the wedding trip. A popular resort town had several hotels and guest houses that specialized in honeymoons, and he had found one he thought would be fun. It was, he said, like a cabin in that it was just one building for the two of us, but like a hotel in that it was in the middle of town with world class restaurants and shopping nearby. I had to admit that I was a bit tired of cooking our meals (and also tired of cold cereal and sandwiches) and ready for a nice night on the town.

But this honeymoon resort—it had the unfortunate name of "Kuntry Kabin"—was really amazing. An unassuming little two-story building a few blocks from downtown, it looked on the outside like an old storefront which had been converted into a residence. Charlie ushered me through the front door, through a tiny foyer, and into an atrium-like living room with a curved stairway leading up to a clearly visible king size bed, its leather-upholstered headboard decorated with a giant red heart. An iron railing delineated the edge of the platform on which the bed rested, and it too was festooned with little red valentines. The sofa in the living room was made of soft pink leather, and to one side was a small heart-shaped pool, and to the other a spa area including hot tub, showers, Jacuzzi, all of it open to the living room except the toilet which was tactfully hidden behind a pink partition.

"Oh, Charlie, this is really tacky."

He looked at me with hurt in his eyes.

"And I love it," I assured him.

It was so over-the-top tasteless that it was actually fun, and Charlie knew me well enough to know that I would welcome tackiness on our honeymoon that I would never tolerate in my home. This was a place not made for living, or for entertaining, but for fucking. And I was pretty sure we would be doing a lot of that.

But first things first: it was time for lunch! So we postponed our exploration of the bed, spa, etc., and embarked on an exploration of the streets around us.

I was, as usual, wearing a bra but no panties, and my long dress sometimes blew dangerously in the breeze, causing me simultaneous worry and stimulation. Charlie put his arm around me for some of our walk, which had the effect of keeping my dress down but also getting my libido up. He enjoyed caressing my waist and sometimes letting his hand wander to my barely-covered rear. His touch on my behind caused tingling down front, and I leaned into him as we walked. There were many honeymooners here, so we were not alone in our public displays of affection, though it seemed we were the oldest couple to be so involved with each other.

We found a nearby café with some tasty sandwiches, which we ate with only a minimum of flirting and teasing. I did slowly consume my dill pickle in a creative way, taking it into my mouth and sucking on it, biting off only a tiny bit, letting the juice run down, swallowing, repeating. Charlie, his guard down in this unfamiliar town, simply looked on in admiration (with a touch of lust). (I didn't touch him with lust, though the bulge in his lap made me want to.)

Back at our Kuntry Kabin we really didn't know where to start: "So many perversions, so little time," Charlie joked.

"There's nothing perverted about getting clean," I said, pulling my dress over my head and shrugging off my bra. "Unless you want there to be."

The spa intrigued me. I had never seen anything quite like it, not even in the semi-lurid advertisements in the bridal magazines. (Yes, those thick periodicals full of ridiculously expensive white gowns and embarrassingly vapid sexual advice had been one of my guilty pleasures in recent weeks.) It was not a tub, exactly; it was more like a molded plastic platform built for two in the middle of a huge shower stall. Water could be made to shoot from showerheads above or from little nozzles below, and all could be directed to exactly the right place.

When we were both naked, we stood awkwardly beside the spa. I was wishing I had lost a few more pounds before the wedding; I felt rather flabby and fat as I stood there in the relatively harsh light, and I could only imagine that as I climbed into the spa I would not be displaying my body to maximum advantage. But I saw Charlie's eyes lovingly focused on my breasts and pubic hair, and I looked at his slightly oversized belly and drooping testicles, and I decided that for fifty-ish we were both looking as good as could be expected. And I knew Charlie didn't care if my breasts drooped or my butt sagged or my stomach bulged, any more than I cared how he looked. He loved my chalk-white skin, my fire-orange crotch, and my lusty mind, and I loved him right back. I climbed into the spa, lying back into its fitted seat, breasts flopping to opposite sides of my chest as I reclined, thighs spreading as I found the most comfortable position. Charlie climbed in beside me, his growing cock swaying as he relaxed and reached for the controls.

The water was squealingly cold at first, and my nipples immediately achieved full erection even as Charlie lost his, but then it warmed up, and Charlie set the shower so that it was like lying in a gentle summer rain. He found a bar of soap which we used to lather each other up—a pleasantly futile task, as the water rinsed the soap away almost immediately. We were genuinely trying to get clean, so we paid attention to each other's underarms, shoulders, torso, stomach, feet, calves, knees, thighs, and—oh yes—crotches. It was fun to run my hands over Charlie's cock and balls, gently squeezing and releasing, making him harder and harder but not bringing him any release. He retaliated by soaping up my vagina and anus, fingers probing casually through every fold and opening he could find as I squirmed and whimpered with pleasure.

By unspoken consent we left ourselves in a state of arousal as we rinsed and dried off and walked naked through the living room and up to the bed. I went up first, aware of his eyes on my ass, wondering just how much of my pussy and anus I was revealing as I walked up the steps with just a bit more sway to my rear than was absolutely necessary. I clambered onto the bed on hands and knees, presenting my hind parts to his gaze, and he climbed on behind me, his hard cock immediately spearing my pussy as he leaned over me to kiss my neck and fondle my breasts, which swayed beneath me as he slowly and methodically slid in and out of me. He alternately pinched my nipples and gently stroked them, and then he left them alone, using one hand to stroke my clit and the other to explore the area around my anus. I was gyrating in time to his fucking, moaning out my appreciation and arousal, sometimes actually using words: "Yes, oh God, yes, Charlie, my Ch—Charlie—oh yes fuck me THERE, yes touch me, yes, yes, oh yes, ohgod, oh Charlie, fuck, fuck me, fuck me, ohhhhfuck.....ohhh....ohhhh...ohgod...."

And he spoke to me as well: "You like that, Dee? You like having a man's cock up your twat? You like having my thumb in your asshole? You like me rubbing your hard wet clit like this? Like THIS?? You like being taken like an animal, like a dog? Ohhhh, you feel good, your cunt feels good, your sweet hot pussy...oh fuck..."

His prick filled my pussy and my asshole clenched tightly around his probing thumb. I was near orgasm, but he stopped his thrusting, remaining deep inside me while his organ throbbed I trembled; then he pulled out ever so slowly and lowered his mouth to my backside. He used my juices as well has his own saliva to spread slick wetness from my clit to the top of my asscrack, and all the time I was pressing back against him, grinding my flowing pussy into his face and tongue. "Oh, Charlie, you are such a nasty boy! Oh yes, lick me, so sweet, so wet, tongue fuck me....oh god...oh fuck...."

Once again, when I was close to coming, he pulled back and simply caressed my rear, lightly running his fingers over its curvature, only occasionally touching the most sensitive places. I was aching, longing for orgasm, and soon I had had enough: I turned around and wrestled with him until he was on his back, rigid cock pointing toward the ceiling, and I straddled him and lowered myself onto him, his proud penis penetrating me, filling my ravenous pussy, deliciously stretching me. The ridge of his cockhead slid over my overstimulated g-spot, and I lost all thought of his pleasure and concentrated on mine: lifting myself up and driving myself down, over and over, faster and faster, our slick genitalia sliding and slurping together, our moans and groaned obscenities filling the room, one hand on his chest supporting me and the other at my crotch patting and slapping my throbbing clit until I came, cursing and flowing, and I collapsed, my full weight on my husband, my pulsating cunt squeezing and spasming around his hot, hard erection.

I lost consciousness briefly, and when I opened my eyes I looked directly into his, which were smiling with delight and humor. He moved very gently inside me, and I felt his cock begin to shoot, and I knew his thick semen was being squeezed out of me to soak his pubic hair and balls and the satin sheets beneath us.

We lay there for a long time in the luxurious languor of afterglow, our brains drifting into sleep even as our bodies were at their most sensitive and alert. When I began to wake again and move my body against his, he moaned and held me tight, held me still, and, with seemingly no effort on his part, he came again, his hot sticky jism once more flowing from my creamy cuntlips, and we kissed, our mouths and tongues re-enacting the fucking we had just given each other, our mouths and faces becoming wet with our saliva and, for my part, tears of joy.

After another brief rest, Charlie gently lifted eased his body out from under mine, his still turgid shaft slithering out of me with a slurping mixture of sex juices. I rolled over, legs spreading still wider, and watched as he got up and stretched. He leaned backward against the railing, his pelvis thrust slightly toward me, his cock swaying and dripping. With his hairy, pasty white skin, flabby belly and satisfied grin, he looked absolutely wonderful to me, and I giggled. "If only the voters could see you now."

"If they could see me now, I'd be elected for life. They would know that if I can handle you, I can handle anything."

More bathing was called for, since we were hungry again and needed a restaurant, but this time we opted for the little swimming pool. Had it been a public pool, I would have been horrified at the stringy ropes of cum that our bodies deposited into it, but as it was, it was romantic to be swimming in our own love secretions. We flirted and caressed, teased and fondled, and were both quite aroused as we got dressed to go out for dinner. Charlie put on a suit and tie, which made him look quite elegant and respectable; I donned a low-cut clingy black knit dress which came to my knees but was so tight as to leave virtually nothing to the imagination. It was impossible to wear anything under such a garment without panty and bra lines, so I was naked under the single tight layer of stretchy fabric. There was a flimsy sort of brassiere built into the bodice, so my boobs were not completely without support, but I did not look at all respectable, especially after I applied about twice as much makeup as I usually wear. Charlie didn't seem to mind: "If the paparazzi find us, the papers will be full of stories about my going out with some loose woman while on my honeymoon."

We drove a short distance to a dark, nondescript alley. I was reminded of the speakeasies I had seen in movies when Charlie tapped on a battered metal door and a small slot opened at eye level. He whispered something, and the door creaked open. I expected a dark, romantic nightclub, but instead we were led into a brightly lit restaurant where we were surrounded by beautiful people of all ages, all the men in suits or tuxes, all the women in revealing gowns. There was a small orchestra playing soft music, and a few couples dancing closely. Very closely. Male hands roamed over bare female backs and barely covered backsides; hips ground together subtly but insistently; eyes and tongues brazenly flirted. Most, but not all, were far younger than we were, and I felt conspicuous in my aging body. But the lust remained in Charlie's eyes when he looked at me across our table, and I knew that whatever might be going on around us, we were still on our honeymoon, still alone in our own world of love and hope and possibility. And sex.

I was amazed that the waiter knew Charlie and called him by name; Charlie guards his anonymity carefully when we are traveling. He sensed my concern and said, "They are very discreet here." And they had to be. Some of the clientele were obviously movers and shakers. I recognized two state senators, one male and one female, the man feeling up his partner in a corner booth, the woman gyrating lasciviously in the middle of the dance floor. [This was back before smart phones and digital cameras became ubiquitous; I understand that now, even though all electronic devices are detected and checked at the door, the establishment's atmosphere is much more circumspect.]

The waiter had a fawning smile for Charlie and just the hint of a leer for me, which I greatly appreciated—and deserved, if I do say so myself. I could feel my breasts bobbing as I took my seat at the table, and feel his eyes on my chest as we ordered our drinks. But he was polite and efficient and left us alone, as a good waiter should.

The tables were such that we could not sit across from each other gazing into each other's eyes. Instead, we sat on a curved and cushioned bench so small there was no way to avoid physical contact (not that we wanted to avoid it!). As we waited for our drinks and food, it was only natural for Charlie's arm to encircle my shoulders and hover within a finger-length of my breasts, and for me to lean against his warmth, my elbow near his crotch and my hand on his thigh. I could not tell whether anyone was watching us, but the knowledge that we were on full display for the rest of the room was quite exhilarating. I did look around at the other tables, where varying degrees of foreplay were being practiced. Some were feeding their meals to each other with one hand and fondling breasts or genitalia with the other. Some were ignoring their food and simply kissing and groping. Some were talking and cuddling. "The rules of public conduct are a little different here," said Charlie. "As you can see, it is up to each couple how much affection they wish to display."

"And how much do you wish to display?"

"That's up to you, Dee. I am very proud simply to be displaying you." He let his fingers brush the edge of my breast through the dress; my nipple responded immediately, and I felt it pressing against the fabric.

"Does it seem odd to you," I said, "that the women here are showing off their bodies, while the men are merely showing off the work of their tailors?"

"The women have beautiful bodies; the men do not. At least, that's the case at our table."

"I like looking at you." My hand caressed his knee and inner thigh, and I leaned up to kiss him. As our mouths met and out tongues touched, his hand slid over my breast, fingers circling and lightly tweaking my nipple. I felt an urge to put my leg up over his, even though I knew it would put me on FULL display. Our drinks arrived then, and the impulse remained just a thought. We did not disentangle for the waiter, though. Charlie thanked him while still stroking my nipple, and as the waiter turned to go, Charlie's fingers slid his hand inside my dress and took my bare breast into his grasp.

I gasped, and as my left hand caressed his knee, my right hand reached across to find the outline of his hard cock. It was growing and pulsating. "I like this place," I said, meaning both the restaurant and the throbbing location between his legs. I shrugged my right shoulder, causing the dress to slide down my upper arm and free my right breast completely. Charlie slid his fingers under it and lifted it with his hand. I could feel the nipple hardening fast, and I became aware I enjoyed being seen this way, not just by my new husband but, potentially by everyone in the room.

Actually, few if any were paying any attention to us; they were all creating their own entertainment at their own tables.

I did lift my leg then and drape it over Charlie's thigh, and I was rewarded not only by cool air on my overheated bare pussy, but also by a pleasant tingling in my hardening clitoris and by an increased flow of warm juices between my legs. In short, I was feeling like what my mother would have called a slut, and I was enjoying it. I was a happily married, lovestruck, open-legged horny slut, and I didn't care who knew it or who could see my hard nipples or my wet cunt.

I also didn't care who saw me fondling my husband's cock, which was easy to free with one slide of his zipper, since he also was wearing no underwear. "We better get this thing out of here," I murmured, "or you'll mess up this nice suit."

As I fondled his cock, it emitted several viscous drops of precum, with which I lubricated him to the point that I could squeeze him while sliding my hand up and down on his stiffness. I placed his napkin in his lap, not to conceal what I was doing to him but to catch the juices that were starting to collect on and drip off my fingers. We began to kiss, our mouths as lubricated as his lap, our saliva noisily slurping and slopping down our chins.

The waiter tactfully cleared his throat when he delivered our meals, and we took a break from our public foreplay to satisfy our other ravenous appetite.

While we were enjoying our excellent food (prime rib for him, shrimp and feta for me) ,I took pleasure in more closely watching the people around us. Most were by now in various stages of undress, and most were kissing, touching, exposing, or, as we were doing, eating (their food). "No one is actually making love," I said.

"It happens sometimes, but most of the customers save their most intimate interactions for more private settings. This is simply an elegant place for couples to share their happiness in each other with nameless strangers."

"And, Mr. Williams, just how did you come to know about this place?"

"Well, Mrs. Williams, you are presently a patron of the establishment in which I earned my way through seven years of college."

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