The HoneymoonChapter 4 free porn video

She awoke to soft light and the tweeting of birds.

Their hotel room was facing the wrong way to see the dawn, but she could see flickers of motion outside: birds hopping around, some people down on the beach in the blue pre-dawn, and even the roll and drag of the waves outside. Their bedroom had a balcony, and she realized they had never used it. Gently she disengaged herself from her husband's arms (noting in passing his erection nestled between her legs—why was he erect now, while asleep?) and padded out onto the balcony. She hoped no one decided to look in her direction: she still wasn't wearing any clothes.

Inwardly she marveled at herself. She had overstepped more boundaries in the last twelve hours than in the whole rest of her life combined. Not only had she finally managed to do it with her husband, but she had enjoyed it. And, she had done it with her sister and brother-in-law in the same room. —While they were doing it! This wasn't the sort of thing a normal woman did, was it? Compared to that, venturing outside in the pre-dawn cool without clothes on seemed a minor transgression. And, she had to admit, it felt good to be out in the open air. She could feel the breeze everywhere.

She took stock of what had happened since the last time she woke up. The whole point of this exercise had been to get her to be intimate with Patrick; and, though it had taken three days of effort, she'd finally succeeded. In retrospect, she wasn't entirely sure why it had been so difficult. What was to stress about? It was just another form of sharing, wasn't it?

But at the same time, she understood her own hesitation. She had been thinking of it as solely as a physical exchange, something that she would do for him (and to have babies) but for no other major reason. When Kerri had told her there was an emotional component, she hadn't understood at all. But she'd seen some of it when she first used her mouth on Patrick; and now that she had finally done it with him, it all made sense to her. There was so much more to it: being the seat of his pleasure, seeing his face, feeling his body tremble in her grasp. And then on top of that were the physical sensations itself. Kerri had been right, she'd never been able to make the connection between the physical joys of sex and the emotional content—nor between the physical joys and the physical activity. Boy, she'd been a mess. Good thing we finally got it all worked out.

Of course, all these thoughts were beginning to make her body tingle. Or maybe it was the breeze. Or maybe it was the thought of her husband, lying there unattended, with an erection all ready to go—one that, maybe, she could take advantage of. Silently, she slid back into the room.

Patrick had rolled onto his back in the short time she was gone, the arm that had sheltered her flung out to the side. She stood next to the bed for a moment, trying to contemplate how to do this. She wanted him to stay hard, but she knew that she would need to get worked up, at least some, before she could receive him—which was what she wanted. She could always masturbate, she supposed ... But she wanted him awake and participating, if possible. How was she going to do this?

Fortunately, he solved the problem by blinking awake as she climbed up on the bed. He saw her, and his eyes lit up with a smile, and she realized how she must appear: on her hands and knees, crawling towards him, her breasts hanging down. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," she said, and draped herself across him.

They kissed for a little, but it wasn't long before she was peeling back the covers to get at his body, to kiss at his nipples. And soon he was reaching up to play with her breasts, to cup them in his palms. And soon she was reaching below to find his erection, still proud and warm and waiting; soon he was reaching below to find her secrets, the soft skin there, the crinkled hair and delicate petals. When his hand reached it, she gave over her pursuit of his erection and let him work—his fingers gentle, massaging the skin of her underside, sliding in between her lips, probing her entrance and then finally—finally—making contact with her clitoris, with that tender little bud that made her feel so good. Soon she was wet and wanting, her nipples tight, her loins tight too—tight with need, with the need to be filled.

She could see the surprise in his eyes, the questions, and she knew they were valid; but she decided not to engage in them. This was a horse she would not look in the mouth. Instead, she led his hand away, and then moved to straddle him the way she had seen Kerri do. A little manipulation, and he was poised to strike; then she sank down on him, bringing him in as deep as he would go.

It took a few tries before he was fully seated inside her, but soon she had him all; her buttocks rested on his hips, and their pubic hair made a mesh between them. It was a different feeling to be on top of him: completely aside from the matter of not being under him, his manhood was entering her at different angle, pressing against the front wall of her passage while the root brushed her clit. Tall and erect upon him, she felt brazen, like a proud-breasted amazon with nothing to be ashamed of. And what did she have to be ashamed of, anyway? Nothing here.

She leaned down to kiss him, feeling the way he shifted inside her, pushing at her walls, touching off corners and crevices she didn't know she had. His arms wrapped around her, bringing her closer to him, one hand stroking through her hair. "I wanna do this every morning," she breathed.

He chuckled a little. "Well, I wouldn't object. But ... Next time at least give me a chance to go pee."

"Why?"

"It ... Men don't last as long when they have to pee. That's why we're hard in the morning: having an erection locks off the bladder so you can't pee."

"Well, I'll keep that in mind for the future," she told him with a smile. "But for now, how close would you say you are?"

"Umm ... Pretty," he said, chuckling.

"Good," she said. "Then hold on tight, honey. I'm gonna give you the cum of your life."

"Umm, sweetie..." he said, catching her with a hand. "It doesn't ... It doesn't have to be about me."

She kissed him. "No, it doesn't. But this time, I want it to be." And he said nothing as she withdrew and prepared to ride him to orgasm.

He was right; it didn't take long. But it was long enough to be good. She felt the flexion in her thighs as she moved upon him, up and down, and then back and forth as she found a better rhythm, letting the distance do the work for her, caressing his length with her passage. She grasped his hands in her own, using them to balance as she moved. His hips rose to meet her at every downstroke, their bodies rocking together in perfect rhythm. She felt her nipples tight in the morning air, her breasts upturned; his eyes on her, devouring her body. She heard his low moans, his gasps, the sounds she drew from him to mingle with her own; she felt the way his manhood twitched inside her with each intense burst of pleasure, felt the way she clenched down on him when he hit a perfect spot. And above all she felt his penis within her, that magnificent massive thing—rubbing past her clit with every motion, his head pressing its way in and out, the pressure on the back wall of her vagina as she used her hips to stroke him, maneuvered him inside her to touch every perfect spot, driving them both onward towards their pleasure.

She saw in his eyes when it was about to happen, and she let go of his hand to reach between them. A moment of searching, and she had found his testicles and the base of his shaft, to cup them gently: what she had seen last night, she wanted to feel today. And felt it she did, as orgasm rushed through him: she felt the wrinkled skin of his scrotum contract, and then the muscular contractions in his shaft (and even down into the patch of skin between his balls and his anus), the pulsing tension there, feeling it happen there in her hand as he groaned and pushed up into her, holding himself there as his pleasure overwhelmed him, as his body clenched and his manhood throbbed within her, letting loose its seed, filling her with the warm white consummation of their love.

She moved back down and kissed him on the cheek. "That's how I should've been greeting you every morning. Hopefully today makes up a little for the last few days."

"Oh god," he gasped. "Oh god. Baby, if that doesn't make up for it than nothing could." He pulled her down to kiss her again, and this time pulled the covers over them. And so they snuggled, kissing in the early morning light, his penis still seated deep within her.

He was still there when she woke up next. The sun was up properly by now, and there was light coming in through the windows, and more noise. She had fallen asleep sprawled atop him, and evidently he still needed to pee, because he was still hard within her. It was a different feeling, to have him inside her when she wasn't really aroused: there was still moisture there, perhaps left over from their previous bout—Her moisture? His? Then again, how would she tell?—so it wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't precisely nice either. She was intensely aware that there was something inside her—and not in a sexy way. She stirred a little—despite all, she didn't want him to leave her.

"Hmm," he said, "good morning."

"Good morning." She smiled and kissed him. "It's good to wake up this way. In your arms." She giggled. "Even your penis is still inside my vagina."

He gave her a look. "You know, you don't have to call it that."

"Oh?" she said. "Why, what should I call it? I think 'peter' sounds silly. And so does 'wee-wee'."

"You could call it my dick," he said. "You could call it my cock."

"Your cock?" she said, giggling again. "Oh, great, and what animal name does my part have?"

"Umm, pussy, actually," he said.

"Those don't match at all," she said. "What does a cock have to do with a pussy? One's a mammal, one's a bird. Couldn't they have at least got that right?"

"Well, you could call yours a flamingo if you wanted," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Right, that's attractive. But in the meanwhile..." She wiggled her hips. "Now that your, ahem, cock is in my flamingo—or pussy, or whatever—what do you think we should do about it?"

"Well, if you're planning a wake-up session like earlier, first I wanna go to the bathroom," he said.

She shrugged, remembering his earlier comments. "I suppose I could let you do that." Carefully, she disengaged from him, extracting his penis—cock—with care before climbing off him.

"And then," he said as he rose, "we're gonna do this properly."

"Do what properly? Pee?"

He looked at her with a smile. "You and me."

When he returned he took control of the situation, immediately moving to cover her. Almost without preliminary he moved to her breasts, licking her nipples, and then nibbling them, and then sucking on them; she moaned, feeling the resurgence of heat down below as his attentions caught her attention. When he reached below, she knew he would find her wetness already beginning, and was glad.

"It ... Seems to be working," he said.

"It does," she said.

"What do you think the difference was? I mean, you're not drunk now, are you?"

"Umm ... I dunno." It was strange to be having the conversation; and it was strange to be having this conversation now: she on her back, one knee up, while he reclined on his side, his semi-erect penis (cock?) flopped sideways and slowly beating to life, one arm under her shoulders and the other hand between her legs, covering her whole area (pussy area?) to taste her wetness; both of them stark naked. "I dunno. No, I'm not drunk now. But..." She reached up to trace his jaw line with a finger. "I think was just getting past the insecurities. You saw me—I was working myself up like crazy, trying to ... I mean, it was like this mental block in my head. I just couldn't get over what was happening—or rather, what was not happening."

"Insecurities," he said.

"Yeah. I was just ... I mean, you know me. I was focused really hard on the idea that I needed to get, you know, turned on ... And that focus just kind of, you know ... precluded it."

"Yeah. You were concentrating so hard that it couldn't happen."

"You'd think that was backwards."

"No, not really. Sex is something pretty subtle. You have to be open to letting it happen. If you focus on other things..."

"Then how come things are happening now?" she said. His fingers were still at work, gently massaging her area and sending gentle shocks through her body.

"Because you're not concentrating," he said. "You're relaxed, and we're just having idle conversation. And besides, you know now that you don't have to concentrate so hard, that it works better if you just..." His hand did something, and she shuddered with pleasure. "Relax..." He did it again, and breath left her in a gasp. "And let me take care of everything."

She twined her arms around his neck and drew him down for a kiss. "I will."

It took her a little while to really understand what was going on down there, but eventually she realized he had slid two fingers inside her, and was using his palm to stimulate her clit. He knew what he was doing, no question about that; pleasure coursed through her as his hand pressed against her, his fingers probing inside her. Soon she was squirming, her body arcing up off the bed as she pressed her clit down into his hand; her vagina (pussy?) clenched with each tremor. He was still kissing her, his lips showering her face with little butterfly kisses; she tried to respond, but there was too much going on for her to focus. With each tremor of her body she felt as though she was trying to squeeze him out of her, that every movement of his hand against her was channeling some sort of force or energy into her ... an energy that would soon become too much to contain.

Finally it was there, and she felt herself shudder; the tension knotted inside her to the breaking point, and then burst open, flooding her with release. She felt it rushing out of her, flowing out onto his hand through her clenching pussy; and even as she came he did not stop, but kept up his ministrations, driving her even further into her pleasure. When her body had finally exhausted itself she fell back down to the bed; and when she opened her eyes she understood why he had not used his mouth as he had before: so that he could see her, watch her face as she came; and so that when she was done, his face would be right there for her to kiss.

Of course, it wasn't just kissing that she had in mind. Even as her lips met his, she was reaching down for his waist, trying to bring him over her. He didn't understand at first, but eventually she managed to herd him into position—between her legs, over her, poised to strike. Then she reached between them and guided him in.

He sunk to the hilt in one go.

She wanted to be his, all his; with her hands she urged him higher up her body, until their hips were practically parallel and his chest towered over her face. The position had an advantage she hadn't expected: every movement caused his cock to rub against her clit, sending spikes of tingling pleasure through her. Of course, because of the position, it was harder for him to thrust, but she solved the problem by bringing her legs up, giving her more leverage to meet him. It took some trying, but soon they had developed a rhythm as they rocked back and forth. It was gloriously good: she could feel his muscles flexing against her, hear the thunder of his heart when she pressed her ear against his chest; his arms encircling her head, the wonderful weight of his body pressing down on her. And, because of their position, their movements were limited; they rocked back and forth, her body caressing his erection, he stimulating her inner walls, but he could not move out, he was trapped within her. It was not a limitation she had any cause to regret.

He lasted quite a lot longer than he had the first time; what surprised her was when she came too. She could feel the tension build in her, feel her muscles contracting involuntarily, clenching around him and his wonderful cock; her breasts were his pillows, her nipples pressed against him; his weight bore down on her, a wonderful pressure as she nipped at his collar bone. And then suddenly it was there, and she was moaning, her head falling back as pleasure overflowed her, her pussy clamping, her chest heaving, her body shuddering in release. And then he gave a moan as well, and she felt him push deep into her, felt the clenching in his body, the twitching of his cock, the rush of his breath, the warmth of his seed. And then they collapsed together, limp, protoplasmic, draped over each other in exhaustion. She felt dissolved, as though she had no shape or form anymore, just a gelatinous goo for him to fall into; his strengthless form felt much the same. "I love you," they breathed, "I love you."

And they might've fallen asleep again right there, but Kerri knocked on the door and said, "Hey, you guys, are you coming down to breakfast?" And Amanda mustered all of her strength and replied, "Yeah, we'll, we'll be out in just a minute." It was a little longer than a minute, actually, but finally Kerri had herded them through the buffet line and to the breakfast table.

"You guys seem a little slow today," Kerri said. "Did you get enough sleep? Did something happen after we went to bed?"

"What?" said Amanda. "Oh, no, no, it wasn't ... Nothing like that. We just..." She looked at Patrick.

"We were, umm. Enjoying ourselves," Patrick said. "When you knocked. —Well. Rather, we had just finished enjoying ourselves."

Kerri exchanged an eyebrows-raised look with Winston. Winston said, "So, what happened last night: it stuck?"

"Yeah, it's still ... It's still in effect." Amanda gave a shy smile.

"So you can... ?" said Kerri.

Amanda nodded.

Kerri gave a squeal of delight and sprang forward to hug her. "I'm so happy for you! Isn't it great? Isn't it awesome to be able to, you know, to be there, and to make your man feel so good?"

Amanda, feeling a bit overwhelmed, laughed and said, "Well, yeah, it ... I mean, I knew it would be good; I knew I would enjoy making him feel good. But I didn't know it would make me feel good too."

"You've come a long way," Winston said, smiling. "I mean, this time a week ago you weren't even married."

"I know, I didn't ... God, I thought it might take me months to get over everything," she said.

"And you have me to thank," Kerri chirped. "Me and Absolut. Alcohol to the rescue!"

After breakfast, Kerri wanted to get started immediately: she had found a tour of the island's cultural-heritage sites, statues and meeting places and old palaces. It looked fun. But first Amanda and Patrick insisted that they needed to take a shower, since their normal morning ablutions had been displaced by sex. Patrick suggested that they shower together, to save time. Amanda agreed, and promised herself to be efficient. But he was right there, his warm tall body, his broad shoulders and even his manhood, looking bigger than ever now that water was plastering down his pubic hair ... Well, how was a girl to resist? She knelt in the water to suck him to life; she had every intention of finishing, and maybe even swallowing, but instead he picked her up (He picked me up!!), braced her against the wall, positioned himself at her opening and began to thrust. It didn't take him long, but it was astounding to her just how good it felt—maybe in part because she was completely at his mercy, with only his arms and his body and the cold tile of the shower wall keeping her aloft. And his cock. His wonderful hard cock inside her, lifting her up all on its own (or so it seemed). When they finally emerged, Kerri gave them a smirk, and Patrick and Amanda looked at each other and realized they might not have been quite as subtle as they'd intended.

The rest of the day was much the same. The tour guide was wonderful, a mountain of Polynesian flesh with a pleasant face and a lot of funny jokes about the island, the flora and fauna, its architecture, its history and (of course) the tourists themselves. But the bus was air-conditioned and rumbled around at what felt like three miles an hour, and there was only so much attention-keeping one tour guide could do. She and Patrick spent most of the trip canoodling: kissing, touching, whispering, giggling, and occasionally even letting hands wander where hands shouldn't wander in public. She felt like a high-schooler—or, at least, what she imagined a high-schooler would feel like, since during her actual high-school years she had been a model of propriety. Was she still drunk? It felt a little like it. There were things hovering on the periphery of her consciousness, a knowledge that she should pay attention and show some modesty ... But these things seemed unimportant, easily dismissed, when set against to the fact of her lover, and his body, and his presence beside her. She was with Patrick. Nothing else really mattered to her right now.

As the tour bus approached their hotel, their hands got friskier, to the point that (probably) anyone who looked would have noticed what they were doing. By this time Amanda was melting with pent-up lust; she practically dragged Patrick back to their suite. Or maybe he dragged her. Once they got to their bedroom, the door closed behind them, he yanked down his pants, pulled her panties aside (she had worn the really cute skirt he liked), bent her over the bed and simply plunged in from behind. He thrust with abandon, their skin making a wet slapping noise with each impact. Her face was digging into the bedspread, her hands knotting the fabric; her breasts swung with each thrust; he rammed into her, the angle different, stroking into new places inside her, making her muscles quiver with pleasure. She felt unleashed, like an animal in heat; her bottom was upturned into the air, and she realized he might be able to see her anus. The thought only turned her on, and suddenly she was exploding on his cock, her body squeezing down on him as he groaned too, and stiffened, though he didn't stop moving, and spent himself inside her, seeding her with his cum.

When they emerged, their hearts still racing, Kerri and Winston were reclining at ease on the couch. "Had your fun then, I hope?" said Kerri with a smirk. "Because I want dinner, personally."

"Sorry," said Amanda, feeling sheepish, "it's just..."

"You're enjoying yourselves," said Winston, "and each other. Nothing wrong with that."

"I didn't really realize it was going to be this good," Amanda said.

"Do you climax?" Kerri asked.

"Sometimes," said Amanda. "But I don't mind it if I don't. It feels good anyway."

"Wait, hold on," said Kerri. "Are we talking about, during sex here? I mean, actual intercourse?"

" ... Yes..." said Amanda, confused. "Why?"

"You can climax from sex?" Kerri exclaimed.

" ... Is that unusual?" said Amanda.

"Just a little," said Winston. "What's the statistic?—only one woman in four can achieve it consistently. Or was it five?"

"Wow, I, I didn't know I was so talented," said Amanda, giggling a little.

"Well, that explains why she's going so crazy," Winston said.

"Oh, give her a break," said Kerri. "She's just discovering it all for the first time. It's pretty intoxicating."

Amanda had to agree. Throughout dinner she tried to pay attention to Kerri and Winston; she felt bad for having ignored them, and for being so wrapped up in Patrick. It was harder than she expected. But she did honestly feel bad. And besides, there were so many interesting questions to ask.

"Seriously? Most women don't have orgasms from sex?" she said.

"Seriously," Kerri said.

"Why not?"

"It's because of the way women are designed," said Winston. "Men have orgasms by stimulation of the penis, right? Well, on women, the equivalent is the clitoris. Starting to see any problems here?"

Patrick said, "The clitoris isn't in the vagina."

"How come you know more about my body than I do," Amanda grumped.

"Well, when's the last time you got face-to-face with your down-there?" Patrick said.

" ... Fair enough," she said. Or unfair enough, as the case may be.

"And on top of that, it takes the average woman four times longer to have an orgasm than it does the average man," Kerri said.

"Seriously? Four times?"

"How'd they come up with that figure?" Patrick asked.

Winston shrugged. "Probably just by comparing masturbation times, the assumption being that the person who's best at getting you to climax is yourself."

"Which is not something all women do anyway," said Amanda. That much she knew.

"Hmm," said Kerri. "So it might be biased because the only women who participate in the study are familiar with their own sexualities to begin with. The actual average, the one that includes women who are still repressed by society, might be quite a bit longer."

"Well, hold on," Winston said. "Isn't it the same bias with men? Only sexually liberated men participate in these studies too."

Amanda knew the answer to this one too. "Yeah, but there's a lot more men who are sexually liberated than women. Kerri and I talked about this. We—" She indicated Kerri with a tilt of her head. "—are discouraged from exploring our bodies, even though we're the ones who need it most. Whereas you guys..."

"If we aren't wanking off every night," Winston said, "they think something's wrong with us."

"Whereas there's something wrong with us if we're wanking off at all," Kerri said.

"Weird," Patrick said.

"I think it's a real mess," Amanda said. "I mean, how backwards is that? Kerri's considered weird for having a healthy interest in her own body. And not just any part of her body—the part of her that's most important, because it lets her have children. She's interested, and that's considered weird. And then I ... Well, I went with the pressure. I did what was expected out of me, and kept my hands out of my pants. And what do I get? A lot of frustration because, when the time comes to 'switch on, ' I can't, and then I feel like a failure because I can't please my husband in bed. Whereas Kerri is made to feel like a failure because she can. Who came up with this nonsense!"

"Idiots," said Winston.

"The patriarchal domination of culture," Kerri proclaimed.

"Necessity," Patrick said.

They all looked at him.

"Okay, look, guys," he said. "When I first got in the armed forces, I thought there was a lot of stupid shit going around—all these customs and traditions and practices that you obeyed just because you always had. Obviously, I didn't say anything, or I'd get my sergeant's boot shoved up my ass, but I thought it was all pretty stupid. But as time passed and I got further into my training—and especially once I got to active duty—I started to understand that all these things they had told us to do were actually to our benefit. Why do you wanna do it that way? Because we tried it the other way, and we know this way works best because the guys who tried it the other way, died because of it. And so, as more and more things were handed to me that I was supposed to take on faith, I got into the habit of assuming that there was a good reason for doing it that way, which I might not know right now but would find out about later. And heck, sometimes I could even get a sergeant to explain it.

"I think that's true of all the rest of life too. I think we try things, and they work, and if they don't work they get phased out. And that means that all the customs and taboos and laws we have in our culture—everything—is there for a reason."

"What, even discouraging women from exploring their sexuality?"

"Yes, even encouraging women to be sex-negative," Patrick said.

Kerri frowned, but Winston laughed: "Oh, I get it: the opposite of sex-positive."

"What possible benefit could it have?" said Kerri.

"Well, under what circumstances is it a good thing for a woman to abstain?" Patrick asked.

Amanda said, "When you don't want her to get pregnant."

Patrick nodded, but Kerri said, "No, abstinence isn't the answer in that case. Contraception is. Put her on the pill. Or Depo-Provera, like you and I got last month."

"Ah, but, there's the thing," Patrick said. "Are those available?"

"Well, duh," said Kerri, "there's a drug store on this island somewhere."
"No," Patrick said, "not now. Were they available back in the day, when people were first deciding whether to encourage women to be sex-negative."

Kerri blinked a few times, clearly adjusting her thought patterns.

"Imagine we're back in the Stone Age," Patrick said, "when you lived in like groups of 50 because there just weren't that many people to begin with. You've got two tribes here. Tribe Alpha embraces eternal sexual freedom and encourages its members to experiment sexually with themselves and each other. The other tribe, Tribe Bravo, embraces the sex-negative lifestyle we all know and love. What happens in ten years?"