Ramona Jean's Wanton Honeymoon

The meal conversation was minimal, as Ramona had been in the habit of not speaking beyond yes or no questions to her parents when dining , since someone would have to put down their utensils to write or sign their response to her - an irritant to her father.

The wall furnace seemed less sinister in the daylight. She admitted to herself that it had done an admirable job at keeping the cabin comfortably warm, as the brunette beauty had simply crawled out of the bed to the table, hair disheveled, wearing only Jeff's undershirt draped over her like an oversized but very short dress. The shirt's thin cotton allowed an obscured view of her breasts in the daylight, Mona realized halfway through the meal.

As the couple's breakfast intake slowed and they emptied the aluminum coffee pot, Ramona mischievously pushed her fork off the table when Jeff was distracted by something outside the window. They had been watching starlings flit about the frost-coated evergreen shrubs that flanked the cabin. Always the gentleman, he immediately ducked down to retrieve the utensil as she obscenely spread her thighs to reveal her bare genitals.

Jefferson, on his knees beneath the table, of course saw his wife's playful exhibition. Her vulva, surrounded by wisps of rather straight black hair, was a work of nature's art, with thick, dark outer lips that nearly met, except where her clitoris and its accompanying shroud protruded. Her inner flower - shy until her legs were spread - was a dark hue of pink and flared invitingly. He loved that she was so uninhibited and playful; he loved her.

Unsure how he was supposed to react, he pounded the underside of the table with the side of his fist, making it visibly jump. The utensils and Bakelite plastic plates thumped and clanked, and he emerged holding the fork and the back of his head, wincing in mock pain.

Ramona leapt out of her chair. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" and rushed over to him as he staggered backwards, away from the table, as if dizzy.

"Are you bleeding?" she asked, then raised her fists to pound on his chest as he grinned at her.

"You are not funny, Mister Payne!" she shouted as he grasped her wrists, forced them to the side and leaned in to kiss her. His gold wedding band caught the light. "Not funny at..."

Her speech halted when his tongue suddenly filled her mouth. He tasted of coffee, syrup, bacon and a hint of his Ipana toothpaste even remained. She was flattered he didn't seem to care about her stale morning breath, laced with their meal and remnants of alcohol. He let his robe fall to the floor, unexpectedly demanding as his strong arms pulled her tightly against him. She hadn't intended for her under-table exhibition to lead to this, but there was no turning back now.

The young brunette's desire continued to grow as his mouth left hers and she caught her breath, looking at the ceiling as he kissed down her neck, his day's growth of stubble scraping her somewhat harshly. She soon felt his strong hands below her shirt, gripping her bare buttocks and kneading them deeply as his stiffened tongue dove into her ear. Mona sensed the warmth between her thighs building as her vagina demanded another strenuous violation. The undershirt she had appropriated in the early morning hours was lifted off and away in a flash before her husband swiftly pulled her against him once more, her bare skin stinging briefly from the impact. The shaft of his swelling, rising organ collided with her clitoris, and she ground her pelvis into him in response.

Moments later the beautiful bride held the back of her blonde groom's head as his lips and bared teeth tried to make mincemeat of her nipples, or so it felt as breathless Ramona Jean was leaning back, pinned against the small table. The petite brunette spread and raised her thighs instinctively as he lifted her by the buttocks, suspending her in his bulging, hairy arms. Her vagina must have developed amnesia, seemingly with no memory of the prior nocturne; it was as famished now as it was last night, simmering, yearning, empty with hunger for Jefferson's hard dick.

Now on the table, the dark-haired beauty was sitting up on her elbows, her head against the window sash, legs raised and spread. She felt the plates, cups and utensils rearranged beneath her and saw the empty silver coffee pot sail off the side. Of course a move to the bed across the room would have been more comfortable, more modestly proper, and not in plain view to anyone in the neighboring cabin, but she didn't dare try to escape. Her virile husband was in charge at this moment, commanding when and where she would be fucked.

Mona took in the view of Jeff between her light brown thighs - held up and out of his way - impatiently lining up his formidable erection beneath his hairy, muscular abdomen. His blue eyes were wide and scanning up and down her bare torso, but as he slid his organ into her, he locked his eyes on Mona's and mouthed that he loved her. Soon the young bride, on the brink of pain - no alcohol masked the unaccustomed demands of elasticity placed on her vagina this morn - felt moans escape her throat as his engorged muscle forcefully filled, retreated and refilled her. Shocks from the pounding of the table against the window jamb resonated into her buttocks as she breathlessly welcomed every plunging inch of his persistent erection.

Fueled by sleep and caffeine, the newlyweds' sex had quickly grown raucous, nearly violent, as the plastic dishes and mugs continued to drop to the floor. Mona held on to the rocking table, which felt as if might collapse beneath her. A plate begin to tip off the side, syrup and pancake crumbs pooled in its center. She grabbed it, playfully inverted and rubbed it across her breasts. After several more strokes, Jefferson broke his cadence to kiss the sticky substance off her stiffened nipples. Despite arching his back, he was too tall to effectively penetrate petite, gasping Mona while vacuuming her tits into his mouth. As his freed erection, coated and draped with a pendant necklace of her vaginal liquor, danced teasingly around inches from her labia, her husband's emissaries - two of his fingers - thankfully arrived and began to carry on his penis's incursion. They were of course unheated and much less bulky than his organ, but with the bonus of an extended thumb to spar with her clitoris.

Curled up on the table, her calves vertical, breasts pulsing with pleasure, the beautiful young woman began to feel a wave of roasting, overwhelming fire overtaking her senses as Jefferson's mouth made its demands and his thumb continued to batter the fleshy protrusion at the apex of her labia. Suddenly her stretched nipple, cleansed of syrup, recoiled as his lips pulled back and she felt a limb beneath her.

A moment later, Mona was in midair, hoisted up by her husband's arm under her lower back, an effort surprisingly assisted by two fingers that remained imbedded in her vagina. She felt vulnerable and utterly submissive to her husband as he indecently used her genitals as nothing more than a handle to carry her across the room to their matrimonial bed.

The petite brunette was then tossed onto the crumpled white sheets like the sack of mail the newlyweds had recently seen flung onto a railroad baggage cart. Ramona Jean - whose parents had previously resigned themselves to the notion that she would end up a spinster due to her flat chest and deafness - raised her feet, dutifully and happily presenting her genitals to her accosting groom, resuming her third intercourse in less than twenty-four hours after taking her vows.

Five

After that third encounter, their longest so far - and for the winded, raven-haired bride, most vaginally taxing but splendidly gratifying - the young lovers showered together for the first time. They stood coated in suds among the black and white tiles and laughed as they cleansed their bodies of sweat - and in the case of Ramona's cheek, neck and a breast, another full dose of her groom's ejaculated fluid.

They dressed and ventured out into the world, hand in hand as they strolled and window shopped on festively decorated Duke of Gloucester Street. When practical, Mona spoke and signed simultaneously to teach him the language she depended on, causing a few people to take notice before they returned to their own endeavors. After an early supper they took an extravagant taxi ride around town to look at neighborhood Christmas lights, colorful in the quickly dark evening of the winter solstice. Ramona thought about the celebrating families within the decorated homes, and held her husband's arm tightly during her own joyous anticipation at making such a home with him.

In order to see a feature Jeff pointed to on his side of the cab, petite Ramona boosted herself up by climbing onto his thigh, accidentally grazing his enshrouded genitals with a hand. After viewing the glowing, lit plastic figures of a front yard Santa and all eight reindeer, she sat back down, but mischievously left her hand in place and began rubbing the inseam of Jeff's trousers, and gradually his scrotum and growing penis in the darkened back seat of the cab. At first it was just a whim; Mona intended to stop, but found she enjoyed kneading the genitals expanding within. Luckily the blonde young man's overcoat hid his bulging, captive erection as he paid the driver upon their arrival at the motel. Only a pair of conversing owls high in the moonlit pines were witness to the deep kiss Jefferson and Ramona languished in as they stood on the low front porch of their cabin after unlocking the door, which opened only slightly.

Carrying her coat - unneeded in the warm taxi - the petite brunette had worn an older outfit to dinner, an olive green skirt, white ribbed sweater, wide black belt and a yellow scarf knotted around her neck. Tortoise shell barrettes kept her hair off her face in an informal straight style. - she hadn't wanted him to see her in hideous curlers, at least not yet. After the bourbon-flavored kiss - the flask was ever present in Jeff's coat - Ramona was surprised as he squatted, facing her sideways after their lips reluctantly parted. For a moment she assumed he had to tie his shoe, but was puzzled, as he wore loafers. Without warning, and in plain view of any guests who happened to emerge into the night, the blonde groom rudely slid both hands inside and up her skirt and slip as she screamed his name in surprise. Her vocal outburst turned to laughter and then shock as he stood up straight and his fingers gathered the waistband of her panties both above her derriere and at her navel. Ramona expected her undergarments to be naughtily yanked down once more in an involuntary front porch burlesque show. Instead, she squealed in protest and futilely tried to escape with flailing arms and legs as her husband stood behind the new bride and hoisted her petite frame nearly two feet upward by the front and rear of her panty waistband and kicked the partially-opened door ahead of him.

Mona ducked her head, although she was quite clear of the upper frame. Nearly all her weight carried by the straining crotch of the panties, the leg bands dug into her flesh on either side of her labia, and the cotton fabric deeply divided her vulva, pressing harshly on her suddenly awakened clitoris as she unsuccessfully tossed her purse and coat at an empty chair.

Jefferson carried his laughing, gasping, kicking bride across the dark room - lit only by the moonbeams streaming in through the open shades - to the edge of the bed, which had been neatly remade in their absence, and placed the petite brunette's upper torso face down on the yellow chenille. Fulfilling her earlier expectations, she felt her panties and garter belt yanked down her thighs, but they halted halfway to her knees. Ramona felt the room's warm air on her behind as her slip and green skirt were stuffed into the soft leather belt across her lower back. It suddenly seemed her husband was about to enter her with the erection she had created in the taxi, but the ambushed young bride - flattered by the fact he wanted her so urgently once more and growing aroused - was not yet ready to be penetrated. The prior night, their very first time had been different - even on the train they had kissed and fondled before Mona's vagina was prepared to welcome his organ. They had talked about her 'needs' after the engagement, and she thought he understood. Ramona's conscience began to deride her, that the whorish behavior the first night - immediately spreading her legs and begging - was coming back to haunt her. Maybe Jefferson didn't care if he was hurting her after all, she suddenly thought, and just wanted to 'go all the way' with the first girl that came along to gain status among his friends, and would eventually turn into one of the distant, uninterested husbands she sometimes read about in women's magazines.

Bent over the yellow bedspread, with her clothes removed just enough to bare her derriere and genitals, she tried to scramble away from him, but his hand reached up under the back of her sweater and used her bra strap as a handle to yank her backwards, nearly ripping the lace border of her slip. The petite woman felt a slap on one of her buttocks, as if a punishment for misbehavior.

For the first time ever, Mona began to fear Jefferson, cursing her decision to expose her tit to him as a stranger that morning and to doubt her decision to be his bride, and to be a wife at all. Instantly homesick, and missing the little girl's body she once possessed that craved nothing but food, drink, elimination and sleep, she wanted to be back at the white-sided store to hide from the adult world in her room, to immerse herself in a book, to work in the sunny garden, even to play with her dolls. When flustered, Mona's spoken words did not come easily. She wanted to protest that he was going to hurt her. Tears began to form in her dark eyes as the petite young woman called out his name twice in an attempted appeal. In the dark and constrained in a cocoon of her own clothes, she braced for the pain of his organ plunging into her only marginally moist vagina while her conscience repeated a verse from Galatians, as she was indeed reaping what she had sewn.

Unexpectedly, Ramona Jean then emitted a cooing, loud gasp as her husband's wide, slick, warm tongue traveled the length of her vulva, and along with his lips began wonderfully kneading her labia. Tears rolled down her cheeks, now because of the guilt she felt at mistrusting the man she loved. She hadn't expected oral attention in this bent over, 'livestock' position - at least it was in the dark per her mother's advice - but Jeff didn't seem to mind. There he was, nose practically up her large intestine whilst his mouth did wonderful things to her genitals.

The petite bride moaned loudly as Jefferson frantically treated her pussy lips - such a scandalous act deserves the vernacular term - like a melting ice cream cone. Cunnilingus - a Latin-rooted noun Mona first learned by accident - and with a shocked blush - as an adolescent when looking up the word cunning in a school dictionary. That first shock had now transformed into pure, maddening desire. After several minutes of her groom's random but exquisite oral attention, Mona's craving for him was once again unbearable and she swiveled her hips and pounded on the bed.

"Jefferson, please! You have to fuck me!" she said, forming the unofficial sign for the word 'fuck' - the palm of one curved hand colliding several times with the back of the other - up over her head as best she could, desperation and labored breath adding an uneven pitch to her voice.

Without allowing his bride a change of posture or permitting further removal of a stitch of clothing, Jeff grabbed a buttock with a smack, then pushed it and the opposing side apart and sunk his erection slowly into her. The groom then began delivering a teasingly restrained, nearly exploratory penetration. His hands were wet as they grasped her flesh - he had wiped her now plentiful juices off his face with them, most likely, the pretty brunette surmised as she joyously accepted his organ. Its girth still produced a slight discomfort, but the satisfaction was overwhelming. As his pace increased, her husband reached up beneath her sweater along her sides. He slid his hands beneath her slip under her each armpit, then clutched the side panels of her brassiere, using them to randomly drag the elastic lower band up and down across her stiffened nipples with increasing harshness. By the time he was rapidly violating the sweating young woman, one of his hands had found its way to her pubic mound and was bringing her to a knee-weakening orgasm.

As the wave of fire simmered within her pelvis, the young brunette reveled in the naughtiness of simply being carried to the bed and getting fucked. Although they had kissed prior, this was a decidedly unromantic, lustful, animal act, submitting to being taken from behind with only the minimal amount of clothing removed.

"Fuck me Jefferson!" Ramona cried out into the darkness as her groom continued his effort to seemingly pulverize her vaginal flesh. Simply saying the word 'fuck' aloud - a very recent, unladylike habit, although she had thought it silently since she learned it at age sixteen - and knowing her unnecessary vulgarity reached his ears added to her thrill. A subsequent attempt at a verbal repetition morphed into a wailing groan as the young wife climaxed. It was almost as if she was able to feel her cervix and uterus prying themselves open in anticipation of insurgent seed.

Ecstatic Jefferson Payne, amidst the rhythmic slapping noise their flesh was making, had enjoyed watching his half-naked, grunting, moaning new wife squirm - all from enjoyment, he hoped. Her hair was flung wildly as she shook her head from side to side - an inexplicable motion he had seen before as she navigated the throes of her peaking pleasure. Below him, her wonderfully shaped, moonlit derriere recoiled with each thrust. After her hands released the gathered knots of bedspread they had been gripping for the last several minutes of his penetration, her fingers spread and trembled - the solitaire catching the moonlight - as her spasms subsided. The blonde bridegroom, belt buckle jingling like a sleigh bell, reluctantly pulled his dripping erection from her heated, constrictive silkiness and joyfully pumped his sperm onto her right buttock. As the viscous fluid flung itself onto her tremulous bare skin, his frantic hand created a heavy airborne mist of her juices in the bluish nocturnal light that bathed the impatient, hungering young lovers.

Six

Thus the die was cast for the next few days - sex - sometimes spontaneous, but always strenuous, frequently intense. Each occurrence left them spent, winded, perspiring and with the pale, viscous evidence of their mating cast - mostly - onto the bride's flesh. In public, Ramona's mission of espionage - secrets of the honeymoon - remained intact.

Standing among a small gathering of tourists during a presentation by a colonial-costumed re-enactor - Mona followed as best she could visually - who could have known the blonde man had lustfully taken his wife before she even had a chance to dress that morning, yanking her bath towel off and carrying her to the bed, unsuccessfully donned 'Tuesday' panties hanging from her ankle like a flag of surrender as he buried his face between her thighs?

The young docent at Jamestown, about their age, who uncomfortably avoided eye contact with Ramona after speaking of 'Indian massacres' could not have known that the young woman felt as if she indeed acted as a savage, having impaled herself on her husband's erection for the first time the previous night. There was nothing to indicate, aside from the glances and warm smiles between the newlyweds, that Jefferson laid there and enjoyed the fire-lit view of his bride in the scanty lace nightgown as she rode his solid organ maniacally, only ceasing when lifted off to permit the launch of seed onto his heaving, hairy stomach.