Nude Beach Bride Ch. 01

"You never told me this was a nude beach resort," Gabriella said.

"I didn't notice that either," I lied. Not a great way to start our honeymoon, lying, but I knew my shy bride would never had agreed to the idea without trickery, and despite loving her totally, I knew our marriage could only succeed if she shed her convent school prudishness, and the best way to start that would involve getting her to shed a few clothes.

"Oh, God, no!" Gaby exclaimed, reading further in the guest pamphlet. "It says here that Thursday is National Nude Day and that nudity is mandatory. Anyone not taking part must leave the resort from sun up 'til sun down. I hope they offer a good alternative. If not, honeymoon or not, we are going home."

With that, she dropped the brochure on the bed and, sobbing slightly, ran past me, locking herself in the bathroom. I was about to follow, knock on the door, and talk nicely to her, but as I raised my fist to the wood, I reflected on the fact that Gaby, at twenty-six, was easily as good looking as any of the women out there. Her olive skin needed little sun to glisten, and her figure was toned by hours of weekly exercise, a healthy diet and regular sex. Her breasts were large, but still firm. A smile spread across my face as I imagined her bouncing as a player in the nude beach volleyball we had passed on the way to our oceanfront unit.

I was still standing there, arm raised, when Gaby opened the door a moment later, still pouting. "Oh, well," she said, "we've paid for the week, so I guess I'll just have to make the best of it."

"The nudity is optional."

"Except on Thursday."

"So we'll take an excursion. There are lots of sights to see."

"I know what sights you are planning on seeing," Gaby giggled, pointing out the window at a pair of blondes walking across the boardwalk, naked, arm in arm. "What I am wondering is what kind of husband needs this on his honeymoon?"

I considered my reply, not daring reveal my true thoughts about Gabriella needing to loosen up. Perhaps it was a bad way to start a marriage, hiding reservations about the other spouse. Still, Gaby was a dynamo in our bed, and a brilliant artist, who painted dramatic panels splashed with bright acrylics. We had met at a gallery opening. I still recalled that first introduction.

Gaby's friend Carla, who knew me from having dated my college room mate Dwight, said. "Gaby, I want you to meet Seth. You have absolutely nothing in common, so you are perfect for each other. I plan to be your maid of honour in oh, let's say seven months."

We all laughed and then someone had steered Carla away, leaving Gaby and I suddenly alone in the midst of a crowd. "Why did Carla say that about you?" Gaby asked. I recall being impressed that she did not assume any conversation had to be about her.

"I think Carla wonders why I came tonight. I assume she knows why you are here."

Gaby's laugh trilled like a song bird. I might have fallen in love at that moment, drinking in her perfume, admiring how her orange dress set off her skin tone and her blazing eyes, hazel flecked with gold. "I am one of the artists in this show," she explained. "Do you dare tell me which works you like best before I tell you which are mine?"

"That hardly matters. I can tell you are too secure to need my approval."

She had laughed outrageously, deeply roaring like a man, straight from the belly with no pretension to lady like manners. Then she took my arm and gave me an artist's eye tour of the gallery. I became her companion for the evening, but it had ended politely with her giving me her number, and joking I would never call.

Of course, I had to rise to that challenge. I introduced her to my passions for sailing, baseball and hiking. She took me to great restaurants.

Carla was wrong. It was twelve months to the day until our wedding. She was the maid of honour however. Traditionally, it is the best man who toasts the bride, but Carla usurped that right (I later learned she bribed my buddy Kevin with a blow job. On hearing that, I told Kevin he should have held out for a threesome of Carla, him and his wife).

"I said the night that I introduced them that they had absolutely nothing in common, so they ought to make the perfect couple," Carla had slurred and sputtered. "Let's hope that at least the sex is compatible."

It had seemed like she would lift her glass in the toast and then slump back into her seat, yet she added, "Let's just hope they checked that out before the wedding night."

"Why, are you offering to join in and give us lessons?" Gaby had retorted.

"You wish," Carla had offered as she subsided, almost sliding under the table.

My organ had surged at the suggestion. As unlikely as it was that Carla would be conscious later, it was even less likely that Gabriella would do a group scene. She defied any concept of a free spirited artist, at least in the sex department. She was strictly into monogamy, and mainly missionary style. Certainly nothing kinky.

As I stood there at the resort, looking out the window, I recalled our wedding night sex, which had after all just been the day before. After Carla passed out, we cut the cake and disappeared to change. I had tried to start something up, but Gaby was not willing, swatting my hands away, but also laughing, teasing, kissing as she had darted about. This created false hopes for later.

Kevin had driven us to an airport hotel, where we were handy for our flight. I had tried to get Gaby to blow me in the backseat, not just opening my fly but also moving my face into the valley of her breasts, licking the flesh until I had nuzzled her dress aside to expose her swollen nipples. Taking this to be a good sign, I had started nibbling, tugging the tender points away from the mounds. Suddenly though, Gaby had gasped. I later learned that she had made eye contact in the rear view mirror with Kevin. As she had explained, her opinion was that "The idea of someone watching creeps me out."

Kevin had handled the registration earlier, so I just had to carry Gaby up to the bridal suite. I wondered whether Kevin and Carla might stop off on the way home to scratch an itch. When I verbalized that thought, Gaby said, "Oh, gross. He's married. Cheating would be so awful."

I bit my tongue and did not point out that over half of all married people cheat. I had always thought monogamy was overrated, but our wedding night hardly seemed the time for that conversation. Merely finding myself thinking that way had freaked me out.

Fortunately, Gaby had not shirked from consummating the marriage, making a joke about "good Catholic girls know that it isn't official until you try to make a baby."

When she said that, I had almost asked her whether she had packed her convent school uniform for good measure. Her friends had done me one better, throwing a lingerie shower. Gaby had changed in the bathroom, from a need for drama, not shyness. She had hummed "Hey Big Spender" as she had emerged one limb at a time, finally tossing the door fully open to reveal a tiny red camisole over top of an even briefer lace thong. We had slept together many times, and travelled a bit, but Gaby had never been so daring. For a single shining second, I thought either the wedding or Carla had brought a different, freer Gaby. I had liked the sensation. My cock especially responded by surging upwards without being touched.

Gaby had broken the spell when she ran across and dove under the bed covers. "Control yourself, stud," she had giggled nervously, even as she wishfully added, "this is no different than any other night."

"I can tell that," I had replied, "there's no Carla in our bed."

My joke had totally ruined the moment. Gabriella turned her back to me and had turned out the light with an indignant "good night."

If it had ended there, so perhaps would have our marriage. Gaby sobbed herself to sleep while I lay there aroused, unable to doze, torn between thoughts that this was all a huge error, alternating with mental pictures of threesomes with Carla and Gaby.

Sometime a short while later, Gaby had begun stirring in the bed, her hips shuffling against my side. I had instinctively rolled over to spoon up to her, not consciously considering that my cock was still half hard, and that rubbing her thong clad, or virtually unclad, butt would likely add to the stimulation.

I had reached around, still half asleep myself, and hugged Gaby's body tightly to mine. I can not claim that I had thought through any plan. If I had, I certainly would have realized that Gaby never had sex in this position. It reminded her too much of anal sex, something which the nuns apparently thought best suited to sheep and Protestants. Well, I was from a long line of Methodists myself.

Gaby had moved her body against mine as the friction did its work with predictable results. I had become rock hard with a few strokes, still just nestling in the cleavage of her ass, which I presumed to be virginal. I still had not been sure whether Gaby was awake or asleep as she wriggled against me, drawing my hardness more deeply between her cheeks. I had become relaxed, just enjoying the sensation as Gaby's wetness had started staining the sheet beneath us.

Not too relaxed though. As we stood watching the blonde girls walk topless down the beach, I recalled almost wilting in bed the night before, afraid that Gaby might moan some prior lover's name. That had not happened though. Instead, her hands found mine and drew them to her breasts, willing me to squeeze them firmly. Gaby moaned in ecstasy as I had trapped her nipples between my fingers and tweaked them with a gentle but slowly increasingly intense scissoring action.

My cock had seemed to have a mind of its own, slowly working itself up and down the soft flesh, but never bobbing lower towards either her pussy or the other, forbidden, fruit.

Gaby had directed my right hand down her soft tight belly in a sweeping action, using my fingers like a fleshy dildo to spear straight into her wetness, not pausing for any gentle unfolding of flower petals. I still had not figured out what game was in progress, but was trying to play along.

I had run my hands lightly across Gaby's nipples, extending the duration of our foreplay well beyond her typical boundaries. My lips had taken on a life of their own, seeking the soft curve where Gaby's neck met her shoulder. My teeth had joined in, nibbling up to her earlobe, eliciting a soft sigh and a wriggle of Gaby's hips as she reflexively stretched like a cat, driving her ass harder against my mahogany hard cock.

Aside from her moaning, Gaby was still silent. Although she had not talked much during sex before, she had always been quite willing to say "No" or "Stop" or otherwise drew boundaries and controlled our play. I had taken the silence as permission, and nibbled harder, and then had snaked my tongue into her ear. Then, however, I had paused. I had become so used to Gaby being the boss that me being the aggressor seemed odd. Gaby might have known this because, half asleep or not, she took my hands in hers and used them to roughly caress her breasts. Next, she had guided one hand swiftly down her belly to her open flower, plunging my fingers in, using them just like she had used her own fingers earlier.

Gaby had moved her thighs slowly, rubbing the walls of her pussy against my palm, and mewing at the way the hairs on the back of my hand ruffled along the tender flesh inside her cunt.

Once my hand was buried deep inside Gaby, I had spread my fingers. She had kept her grip on my wrist, controlling how deep I thrust, and when she wanted me to pull out. This left it up to me to decide where within Gaby my fingers explored.

I had inhaled the heady perfume of her sex as I had located her 'g-spot', or at least what I imagined to be that bump on the inner wall of her cunt, buried under the first layer of skin, but raised and throbbing with a pulse all its own, like a second clit. I had rubbed there with my baby finger as my other fingertips had sought out her real clit, brushing against the tip, teasing it, using a languid rhythm that had caused Gaby to squirm and stretch like a cat.

Before long, my entire hand was coated with her wetness. "Oh. That's the spot," Gaby moaned as I twirled her pearl.

This was odd. Up until then, we had almost never spoken during sex, and when we had, it was almost always Gaby saying "no" or otherwise drawing a line, controlling the action. My cock pulsed harder against her rear, captured in the folds of her buttocks. I took a chance and whispered. "I wish I could grind the heel of my hand against your clit."

Thoughts of it being Carla here rather than Gaby had vanished.

"My nipples are harder than they've ever been," Gaby had moaned. "They are aching."

"Do you want to roll over so that I can suck on them?"

Gabriella had laughed, lustily, dirty, a laugh which I had never heard before. Perhaps marriage really does change everything. "You just are hoping that I'll suck you," she had said then.

Instead of rolling over, she had pushed her hips back into my hardness, but the tip was too high to pierce the tightness of her anus and I slid along her sweet wet flesh. I had waited, wondering when Gaby would reach underneath herself and draw my cock to her slit.

Recalling this as we watched the blondes frolic naked in the surf brought a smile to my face. Gaby was obviously aroused as well, playfully reaching over and grazing her fingers across the tip of my cockhead, teasing my growing erection. "You've recovered totally from last night, I see," she said. "Are you wishing you could have one of those free spirits instead of a prude like me?"

"Nothing uptight about a wife who milks her husband and makes him come all over her back for wedding night sex." I replied carefully. "Although technically, that might mean our marriage could still be annulled, so I guess I should think things over while I have my options open."

I could not contain my grin, or stop my belly from rolling with laughter. Gaby had indeed shocked me.

"Any slut can suck cock," Gabriella had said last night, "but can they do this?"

Without further explanation, she had then grabbed my balls instead of my shaft. Her years of dance training had enabled her glutes to clench powerfully around my rod, flexing to massage as I continued to slide along the cleft of her ass, well lubricated by our passion.

Gaby's free hand then had done something else novel to our shared experience- she had kneaded her own nipples, since my better hand was still trapped deep inside her pussy. "I wish it was your lips down there," Gaby had sighed, "kissing my clit like it was my tongue, drawing it in between your teeth and ..." she had stopped, panting, and then had continued, "...nibbling it as your lips close around it, tugging it up out of its nest..."

Gaby had never talked like this before, and had never sought out, or seemed to enjoy, oral sex. She had continued humping back up against me, almost rising onto hands and knees, fucking me with an intensity she had never shown before, even though we were not joined by penetration.

Fortunately, I did not respond by saying how much I wished my fat meat was filling her tight asshole, nor had I suggested that if she wasn't into anal, I would happily include Carla in the relationship. Instead, I had plunged my fingers deeper still inside of her, encouraging her to respond by kneading my balls savagely.

Gaby had twisted, thrashed and writhed, screaming as she came. I grunted like a beast as I responded by pumping my load all over her backside, jets of goo spraying up between her shoulder blades as rivulets ran down into her anus. We each had come harder than we had ever come together before.

As our energy ebbed and we subsided into the sweat drenched bedding, Gaby, already sleepy had murmured, "Bet you aren't thinking of Carla now."

As we watched out the window the next day, I reflected on the fact that whether I had been thinking of Carla or not, obviously Gabriella had been.

In a rare moment of wisdom, at the time I had said nothing, allowing her to drift back to sleep in my arms. We did not awake until the hotel staff banged loudly on the door warning us about checkout time, so we had no chance for more than a very rushed non sexual shower. Because we were in such a hurry, we had shared the shower, and Gaby had asked me to wash her back. I playfully licked at the crusty remnants of my sperm which adorned her back just where it began curving outwards. She had wriggled away, gasped "Ewww, gross," but then she had playfully swatted at me with her shower puff, leaving me even more confused. "We haven't got time, you perv," she finished.

We had then dressed and hurried to the airport, almost missing our flight to paradise.

I had tested the expanding sexual boundaries, asking Gaby, "Care to join the Mile High Club?"

This had only earned a chilly stare at the time, but to contribute to my confusion, when the older couple across the aisle each wandered up towards the rest room at overlapping intervals, it was Gaby who had joked, "I wonder if they are Mile High Club charter members?"

I was shocked that my bride was so unusually forward, but dozed off and the rest of the trip was uneventful.

Now we stood together at the resort, arms touching at the biceps, watching the blondes as they moved closer together. The taller one, who had long straight hair and small high breasts, seemed to be the aggressor. Her firm breasts moved slowly as she stared into her friend's face. The heat was causing tiny beads of perspiration to gather and run together down her downy tummy. The smaller woman bent without saying a word and softly licked up the drops as they dipped across her navel. The scent of Gaby's body hinted at her arousal, as the two lovers lay on the sand, not caring who might be watching. I felt the blood surging into my cock, my balls tightening as I watched the smaller, more full figured girl slowly run her fingernails along the sweeping curves of her lover's almost perfect body. As she touched, she kept on licking, drinking up the sweat forming on her skin.

"Oh, I'm getting such a delightful itch in my pussy," Gabriella admitted. "Would you mind scratching it?"

So as the felines cavorted in the surf, I nudged my hand between Gaby's thighs, running my fingertips slowly up inside her leg, applying just enough pressure not to tickle. We took our eyes off the beach action and stared into our respective souls. Her lips glistened with excitement. Her eyes gleamed with joy.

"Yes," she said," this is how a marriage should be. It's the first time in my life I've ever been more excited than waiting for Christmas."

For a moment, I thought about suggesting to Gaby that we run out and join the gals at play, since we were naked already, but I realized this might be rushing things, and also, presuming an invitation which night not exist. Sure, the blondes must know someone could be watching them, but even on the first day of our honeymoon, I understood that the mid day heat was siesta time for most resort guests, and that most of the rest would be off on activities. That was why the beach was deserted other than the pair.

So I kept up my slow advances, deciding that I had three or four days until National Nude Day, and that I should just build towards my best shot at breaking Gaby fully out of her shell. Just watching these two was already tremendous progress. The way that Gaby's hand was curled around my shaft, pumping my cock was unprecedented. Prior to the wedding, she wouldn't even have watched porn with me, and now here she was, displaying a voyeuristic streak.

I eased her legs apart. She had not lied. Her cunt was dripping wet. Gaby moaned, her hand pausing as she cupped the head of my cock. I glanced away from the beach to see what she was doing. Her left hand was cupping her own right tit, fingernails raking her nipple, in silent imitation of the blondes at play. Her tongue flicked across her lips, lingering briefly, the wetness left behind a remembrance of her wet nether lips. She slid her hand across her chest and toyed with the other nipple. I felt her knees quiver.