The First Ninety Days Ch. 10

He bent his head further, kissing her neck; he turned her body, shifting her hair aside. She felt the sudden coolness of air on the back of her neck, already tingling with goosebumps; then the touch of his lips sent shivers through her. She reached for his hand and pulled it around to cup her breast.

"Maybe if I what?" he said.

"You were the one holding off," she said.

"What, you think I wanted to? I didn't want to hurt you."

"Maybe if we had talked about it."

"Okay. Wanna?"

"Unhhhh."

"There, we've talked about it."

She laughed, low and husky, as he drew her back against him. His lips moved to her other ear, licking and nibbling, as one hand covered her breast and the other slid down to rest on the crotch of her pants. Her nipples had already stiffened against her bra, though she doubted he could feel it; the hardness in his pants was pressing into her back and she knew that his hand down below must be feeling the fire there as well. He bent his head around her shoulder to nip at her throat, and she threw her head back, letting him hunch over her, letting him feed the fire.

When his hand left her breast she gave a moan of dismay, but then she felt him fumbling with the button on her pants. In a moment they were pooled on the floor. Then she felt knuckles against the bare skin of her butt, and had a moment's confusion before suddenly his erection was free, a bar of fire between her legs. When his hands grasped her hips, she let him tilt them backwards, and suddenly he was home.

It was a different sensation than before. He had entered her from behind before—doggie-style a few times, or a slow, langorous bout in the mornings as they spooned together in bed. This was entirely different. His lips on her ear, his hands on her breasts, as she stood with her ass in the air, feeling him penetrate her from behind, feeling their bodies undulate back and forth as he did her. She had no idea how she'd gotten this wet. She had no idea how she'd gotten this horny. He was moaning in her ear, and she was moaning too, and if they'd forgotten to close the blinds again than that stupid neighbor of theirs was going to get an eyeful of Jon's butt but she didn't care, she was lost to the moment and she wanted nothing more than his cock inside her.

He thrust with sharp, deliberate movements; he couldn't get as far in as he could in other positions, probably because of the awkward angle. Her whole back was covered by his chest, by that warm plane of muscle wrapped around her. His arms were crossed over her chest, hands on opposite breasts, kneading their flesh. She felt his thighs knocking against the back of her legs as he straddled her, shoving up from the hip, impaling her on his cock—his warm, fat cock, so magnificent inside her, filling her up, filling her body with pleasure, making her whole.

Suddenly she felt him tense, heard him groan; he thrust in as deep as he could go, and she felt him pulsing, throbbing; and then the warmth of his seed deep within her. She sighed with pleasure and pressed back against him, wanting him deeper, wanting to draw him as deep as she could go, feeling his love for her in his breathless moans, his arms strong around her, his heart thudding against her skin, his hot cum pulsing out of him, splashing against her walls. That was his love for her, that warm and gooey treasure deep within her, and her love for him was to be here, to take it, to feel it cling to the walls of her pussy, to caress him with her length to serve his pleasure, and to lean back and kiss him as his heart thudded down from its final crescendo.

"Oh, God, Caitlyn... Caitlyn, my love, my beautiful beautiful woman... I don't know how I... How can I ever show you how much I love you..."

"Didn't you?" she said, smiling, and wiggled her hips against him. This did very interesting things to them both, since he was still inside her.

He kissed her again, and as they stood entwined, his penis softened and eventually dropped out of her. She was sad to feel it go.That's how I know we were meant to be, that he was meant to be mine. When we're just talking about things, or working up to it, I always feel so awkward, so doubtful... But once he's inside me, once we're actually making love, he fits me perfectly. He belongs. I am his, I belong to him, my body was made to be a home for him. And his was made to live in mine.

He stood back, and she bent down to pick up her pants and put them back on. She knew her panties would be soaked soon, by his cum and by her own juices, but she didn't want that dripping down her leg. But when she turned, Jon had simply stepped out of his pants and was now bare from the waist down. His penis waggled stiffly from side to side, still proud if not at full mast, and his pubic hair made a dark thatch above it.

She raised her eyebrows at him.

He shrugged, gave her pants a look, and raised his eyebrows at her.

She rolled her eyes.

Of course, inthat state of dress, she knew where things would head once they got the chicken in the oven and themselves in the bedroom; and Jon did not disappoint. Having said that, he made a play of it, kissing her everywhere, slowly liberating her from her clothes, undoing one layer at a time with the utmost care and love. Soon they sat naked together, facing each other unashamed over the bedcovers.

"Does it really bother you that I want to help Harold," she asked him.

He made a face. "It... I dunno, Caitlyn. He just... He rubs me the wrong way. Kind of..." He sighed. "Kind of reminds me of myself, in some ways."

She looked at him. "What?"

"Well... You didn't know me back then. But I was a lot like that when I was younger. So... So underconfident. Clinging to whatever I had to make me sound interesting. You might not believe it, but, I was one of the weirdos once."

She didn't believe it—not because she thought he was lying, but because she simply couldn't see it happening. Jon was so confident and genuine today. But if he said it had happened... "And you don't really like seeing that reminder?"

"No," he said. "I didn't much like myself back then."

She touched his hand to show her sympathy. He took it, resting them on his knee.

"And..." He sighed, rubbing his face with a hand. "And, it makes me wonder... God, I dunno. It makes me... Wonder if... Maybe... I mean, you like me, right? And... He's... Like me."

She saw where this was going, and spoke sharply to head it off.

"Jon, Harold is no more like you than... ThanRex is like you. You're right, maybe you were like him once... But you're not like him anymore. You're so different from him now. You've gotten over your lack of confidence, and now you... Well, you do what makes sense to you, you say what's in your heart, and you don't care if others disagree. Harold wants to beliked, he's almost like a dog that way; you don'tneed to want that, because you know you are. There's ahuge difference.

"And, Jon: I married you. I am your wife. You are my husband. That's more important than... Than a lot of things. Than almost everything. It doesn't matter if Prince Perfect comes along tomorrow—I'm already married, toyou. I've made my decision." She stroked his face. "And I don't regret it one bit.

"And besides, even if Prince Perfectwere to come along, I can guarantee you he'snot Harold Cheng." She smiled.

His face was pale, drawn. She suddenly realized just how difficult it must have been for him to make that admission. Love for him swelled in her heart, and she drew him to her, putting her arms around him, holding him close.

"I love you," she whispered. "We're married. That's that. Nobody could ever...Ever take your place in my heart. I wouldn't let them."

He drew her close, his arms around her, and shook. When she felt wetness on her head, she suddenly realized he was crying. Curious—she had cried in his arms so many times, but this was the first time the reverse was true.

Funny; I thought I knew all there was to know of him.

It didn't take long. After a little while he shook his head and sniffed and got his composure back. "I love you," he whispered. "I'm so glad you're in my life." And when he pulled away, she looked up and saw the silver tracks on his face, and kissed them, and then kissed him.

As they sidled together, still connected at the lip, she let her hand drift down his body, over his warm chest and down into the thatch between his legs. His cock was still damp from her own oven when she took it in her hand, which reminded her that if she wanted to play with it, she should probably clean it off first. She gave him a final peck and got up for a washcloth. "I'll be right back."

Once her plaything was washed and dried, she regarded it with clear eyes. She was still vaccilating over it. She knew that he liked it when she played with it—well, that was only fair; she liked it whenhe played withher privates, assuming she could get over the pre-nervousness—and to be perfectly honest she didn't mind doing it either. His penis as an object wasn't all that thrilling to her (unless it was deep inside her, pushing up towards her womb where, God willing, he would one day start a life inside her), but she knew what it did to him, knew how much he loved it when she played with it—loved doing those things to him.

The problem was his semen.

As far as she was concerned, there was only one appropriate place for cum in the human body: inside her, as deep as it would go, warm and slippery and tingling in the corners and crevices of her pussy. She didn't like it in her mouth—the taste just wasn't any good, nor the texture—but the idea of backing off and letting him just spurt everywhere wasn't any good either. Once, in the early days of their marriage when they had still lived at his parents' house, she had asked him to spurt off as an experiment—well, she had helped him get there too—and watched as it flew everywhere. They had done this in the shower, which had helped with the clean-up; but right now they were lying on their bed, and she didn't want his semen getting all over the place—the bed, his legs, maybe even her. But conversely she didn't want to have to get him in the shower every time she wanted to kiss him on the penis.

The solution, to her, was for her to straddle him and take him inside her when he reached his coming point, and let him spurt off in the place he belonged, in the place she loved to have his cum. But Jon didn't like that. The one time she'd done it, he'd protested that it wasn't fair for him to take his orgasm inside her without being compensated in return, and then insisted on going down on her—going down on her!, while his cum was still inside her! She was so grossed out by the idea that she was completely unable to relax, and (as she'd learned by now) orgasm was downright impossible when tensed up. She'd never tried it again.

Some of this must have been on her face; or perhaps Jon simply knew her well enough to predict her thoughts. "Baby, you don't have to. Not just to please—"

"Hush," she said, smiling. "I want to. I like to. I just... Don't know what to do when you come."

"Just... Well, I have an idea, but it, umm. It came from the Internet."

From one of those euphemistically-named 'adult videos.' "Okay."

"You could just... Keep your mouth there, and, and let it shoot, but... Let it drip out again. That would control the, um, the splashing, but it still wouldn't get too much of anywhere."

She shrugged. "It's worth a try. Why don't you lie down?"

He scooted back on the bed until he was sitting up against the wall. It wasn't what she had intended, but as she moved in closer she decided this was fine too—maybe even better. She could lay her head on his lap and get to work; she could look up and see his face. His hands caressed her back, stroked her hair. Yes, this would be just fine.

His penis was small and soft, but even as she took it in her mouth she felt it begin to warm and enlarge. He was circumcized, so there was a ring of flinty skin partway down the shaft, but otherwise the skin was deliciously soft and smooth, in a way she had never imagined before becoming married. She could still smell the scent of their previous coupling; but then she would've needed shampoo to fix that. She could stand it.

She was pretty familiar with its geography by now, and she began to lick her way up and down the shaft. She took advantage of its current flaccidity to suck it all into her mouth; once he was up to full staff, there was no way to fit it all. As it continued to grow and firm, she let loose, and then returned to the head, noting in passing that her nose was now itchy and tickly from its brief contact with pubic hair. She stopped to scratch it and continued on.

What Jon had told her was that an in-out, or perhaps up-down, motion was necessary to bring him to orgasm—sensible, since that was the motion his penis went through when buried deep inside her, touching folds of her body she never knew were there—and that her mouth was the most logical tool to use. But she wanted to see how much she could accomplish with her tongue. Conscious of his hands in her hair, on her back, she began to rub her tongue against the underside of his penis, first gently, and then with increasing intensity.

She wondered suddenly what they must look like now: Jon upright in the bed, hunched over her, his eyes lidded, his hands caressing her skin; she curled up on the bed, her head in his lap, her own privates peeking out between her legs as she lay on her side. Jon was groaning now, possibly taken aback by the sudden intensity of sensation, and she propped an elbow up on the other side of his legs so that she could approach from the top. Giving up on the tongue, she began to work her mouth up and down, gently at first but with increasing speed. His cock seemed larger in her mouth than ever, and his breathing was ragged—a sure sign of his impending orgasm. "Caitlyn," he was gasping. "Caitlyn, Caitlyn... I'm gonna—"

A sudden intensity of thought grasped her: that she didn't want to miss this orgasm. She knew what it felt like when he was down below—the pulsing, the splashing, the urgency in his muscles as he pushed his way deeper into her body—but now she wanted real details. She secured her lips to his shaft, pressed her tongue up against the bottom of his penis, and hung on for dear life.

She sensed rather than felt his balls contracting, pushing his semen up; but she felt it as it burst up into the shaft, felt him swelling in dimension. And suddenly with a tremor he was there, bursting up into her mouth—she had the sense to breathe through her nose this time, and it pooled on her tongue. As she watched from her limited angle, his mouth gaped and his eyelids fluttered; his hips jerked below her as he spurt twice, three times, four times more into her mouth, until they fell back on the bed and the last bits trickled out. Then his head fell back and he was still, except for the gasps of his breath and his hand, warm, now cupping her cheek.

"Oh my God," he gasped. "Caitlyn."Does hehave to keep saying that?

She signaled with a hand that she needed to run to the bathroom, where she spit out his cum in the toilet. No matter how cool it was to have him come for her that way—and she had to admit, it had really been cool to have such a front-row seat to his orgasm—she still didn't like the stuff that came with it. She swished with Jon's mouthwash too before returning.

"Caitlyn, you are the craziest girl I've ever been married to," Jon said.

She laughed and climbed onto the bed. "Oh, you've been married before me?"

"You said you weren't gonna... I figured you weren't... I totally wasn't expecting that!"

"What? That I would hang on?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, you do realize it's more intense when you keep doing stuff to me as I come, right?"

She hadn't thought about that one way or the other. Under normal circumstances, Jon had been cumming at least once a day since their wedding night; she hadn't, though he was still doing a perfectly wonderful job as far as she was concerned. Regardless, though, she just wasn't very familiar with them. "Well, then, I'm glad I helped you enjoy yourself."

He shook his head. "Caitlyn. Caitlyn, my beautiful woman, my..." Words seemed to fail him, and he took her back in his arms.

She smiled up at him. "Yes, Jon. Your woman. I'm yours."

He kissed her, drawing her up to meet him, and then began to nibble at her neck again. She sighed her pleasure, sensing that it was his turn, that now she was in his hands. Even though some of the things he did felt dirty to her, she had never felt threatened in his arms. Whatever he did, wherever he was, was safe, and she could relax under his lips, his hands, knowing that no matter what, he would never hurt her.

Though he might push at her a time or two.

He kept kissing her as he drew her down to the bed, his arm under her as he laid her down flat. He leaned over her, kissing her, as his other hand began to explore: tracing her face, the edge of her nose, the line of her throat; her collar bones under her skin; the inside of her arm, her palm and the tips of her fingers. As his hand began its return journey, he began to kiss at her neck again, and then her ear, that ever-sensitive spot. He said that he loved her ears, that they were perfect to him. He was crazy, of course; who cared about ears. But it was nice to hear.

She let herself lean back and surrender under his ministrations as he began to kiss his way down her body, his lips following much the same trail as his fingers, but he let himself derail as he passed her breasts. He kissed his way around the right one, over and under, side to side, covering every inch of the skin of her breast. She had never been secure in the size of her breasts. Clothed, they seemed far less impressive than the ones she saw on TV, in movies, on magazine covers at the grocery store; unclothed, without the benefit of the padding she'd installed in her bras, things were even worse. Jon had never evinced any concern about the size—or lack thereof—of her breasts; indeed, he claimed they too were perfect for him, just like her ears. Obviously, he was crazy. But it was still nice to hear.

He was covering her breast in kisses, now looping inward in concentric circles... But still he had not touched her nipple, proud and erect and longing for his touch. When he finally did she felt her passion mount, a fresh sensation of wetness between her thighs, a new wave of pleasure sweeping over her as her arousal climbed another notch. And as he sucked her nipple, swept over it with his tongue, pulled at it with his lips, his hand began once again to wander south.

She felt it tracing over her stomach and navel, stopping for a moment to play in her belly button (it tickled a little, but Jon seemed to find it cute—hewas crazy, wasn't he?) and then, to her surprise, detour down her leg. She felt his finger trail down the side of her thigh, and then, tingling, to the back of her knee; she'd never known that spot had so much sensitivity. Then, as he switched to her other breast and began to kiss all over it, his hand began creeping up the inside of her thigh.

As before, he seemed to avoid that special, private place—sliding up and down her thigh, switching from one to the other—as his kisses orbited her nipple. Finally he did both at once, attaching to her nipple as his hand settled over her pubis, his longest finger down the length of her opening. A distant voice marveled how he must have done this on purpose; most of her, though, was consumed with the sudden sensations as he latched on to the two most delicate places in her body. She felt as though her whole body was throbbing in time with her heart... And in time with the deep, persistent ache in her groin, where thanks to the magic of Jon's hands and lips a gap now begged to be filled.