Honeymoon
- 3 years ago
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Honeymoon Pt. 01 free porn video
I was afraid he might try to carry me over the threshold and break his back, but he did something even nicer. He opened the door, wrapped me in his arms, pulled me close, closer, kissed me gently and then more forcefully, his tongue meeting mine in a wet sensuous duel. My whole body, tired and worn out as I was, came alive. I pressed my body—breasts, pelvis, mouth—against him, squeezed him, ground into him, felt almost as if I might achieve orgasm right there and then. But his grip loosened, his tongue withdrew, just lingering long enough to lick at my open lips a few gentle times, I realized I was breathing hard, almost climbing up his body, and I let myself back down to earth, or at least to the floor. Opening my eyes I saw that we were in the room, somehow the door had been closed and locked, we were standing beside…the bed. The marriage bed.
I had successfully avoided this for so long. How could this have happened?
Well, it had happened as these things often happen, suddenly and over a long period of time, his love had filled my heart gradually, and I had known I loved him from the moment we touched.
Not from the moment we MET, mind you. I was unimpressed with him at first. Another guy. Another man out to get what he could. And he didn’t even have the decency to try to seduce me. He just wanted to talk. But then he didn’t talk. So I talked. I told him, little by little and all at once, about my late, unlamented marriage, about the temper tantrums of my ex, about the way I had closed myself off as a means of self-protection, about the way our sleeping together became just that. About the way I woke up one day realizing that the marriage had been over for years. About the battles with the law and the lawyers over how to put an end to something that had already ended. About my blissful, sexless single life. About my determination never to make the mistake of marriage again.
And he listened. For months. And he drank my coffee. And he listened. And he ate my cooking. And he listened. And he played with my dog. And he listened. And he stood to leave and reminded me, as he always did, that if I ever needed to talk he was there for me. But this time he touched my hand as he said it. He touched my hand…little more than a handshake, but…it was more than a handshake. It left me weak in the knees — and wet in the crotch.
And the next time we met — the next time he came over, it was all very different.
There was electrical tension in the room as we cooked together, throwing some stir-fry into a wok and warming up some bread from the local bakery. We studiously avoided bumping into each other, with mumbled apologies accompanying each failure. We ate in near silence, our topics of conversation being how our day had been, and how good the food tasted.
After dinner we sat in the living room, he on the sofa and I in an easy chair, and this time HE talked. He talked about his hopes, his ambitions, the way he wanted to make the world a better place, the way his political career was an extension of his moral being. He talked about the difficulties of campaigning, the ever-present fear of rejection, about how hard it was to realize that even with the landslide victory he had enjoyed in the last election, 4 out of every 10 people thought he was wrong for the job. He talked until he had nothing left to say, and then he stood to go.
As he started through the doorway, my hand involuntarily touched his arm. Apparently, that was all the encouragement he needed, because he then took me in his arms, bent his lips to mine, and kissed me. And what a kiss! It was gentle but firm, his tongue sliding between my surprised lips to swirl around in my mouth, my tongue sparring with his as he pulled me closer to him. I could feel his manhood hard against my stomach, and I knew he would stay with me if I asked him.
So, when we finally came up for air, I looked into his eyes and said, ‘You don’t really have to go.’ I took him by the hand and led him to my bedroom.
Inside the room, I closed the door. The only light was from a small lamp on the nightstand. We kissed again, and this time his hands roamed over my body in a delicious way which I had not even known I wanted. His fingers slid down past my waist, kneaded my buttocks through my slacks, came back up my body to the sides of my breasts and then thumbed the nipples which were erect beneath my thin blouse and sheer bra. Meanwhile, my hands were going on their own adventures, moving from his rear to his back to his groin. I ran my fingers over the hardness straining against his pants. All the time we kissed, our tongues flickering in and out of each other’s mouths, our saliva flowing freely so that we were actually slurping as we enjoyed each other. He began to fumble with the snap and zipper at the back of my slacks, and I pulled away from him to do it myself.
‘Wait,’ he said. It was the first word he had spoken since the kissing started, and the one I wanted least to hear. ‘I–I want you to know–I–this is not just for tonight. Is it? I–I want you in my life.’ And those, of course were the words I’d been longing to hear most of all.
‘I want you in mine,’ I said, finding and fondling the hard bulge at his crotch. ‘I want you always.’
He kissed me again, and we spoke no more for a while, except for little moans and sexy endearments. As we sat on the bed, I undid his shirt buttons and opened his shirt to caress his hairy chest. He shrugged the shirt off, and then he unbuttoned my blouse, and I let it slide off as well. He found the front clasp on my bra and opened it, gently lowering it down my arms and to the bed. I was aware of the way my breasts hung, heavy and drooping, their large nipples hard and distended. I felt myself blushing as he looked at them with something bordering on adoration. To distract myself from my embarrassment, I ran a hand over his chest and discovered that his nipples, too, were hard and erect. I leaned over on impulse and tongued one of them, feeling him shiver and hearing him moan. I opened his belt and his slacks and let him slide them off until he was wearing only black socks and white briefs. A beautifully obvious bulge pulsed in his shorts, and I rand my hand over it lovingly before pulling his shorts down and freeing his throbbing erection.
He pulled my panties off as well, and I was embarrassed to see how obviously wet their crotch was. I hoped he would take my arousal as a compliment.
Once we were naked, he was far less confident, far less in control. ‘I haven’t done this in a long time,’ he confessed.
‘Me neither,’ I whispered.
I began to play partly by instinct, partly by memory. I stroked his semi-hard cock gently, feeling it swell to life as I moved my fingers up its underside and he moaned his pleasure. In the back of my mind I knew it was not a large penis, but I also knew it was the most beautiful one I’d ever seen, because it was his. He rolled halfway over so we were facing each other. His mouth went to my neck, up to my ears. When his tongue flicked around, the sound and the feeling raised goose bumps all over my body, and my nipples were immediately full, turgid, tingling. His hand found a breast and ever so lightly stroked the nipple, and then hungrily moved his mouth down to it as his hand slid down my belly to the sparse hair of my pussy. My sudden groan startled him, and he started to withdraw, murmuring his apologies, but I pulled his head more tightly to my bosom and moved his hand down to the hairy wetness between my open thighs.
‘Oh my God,’ he gasped. ‘You feel wonderful.’ His fingers began to explore my slippery cuntlips.
‘So do you,’ I affirmed, taking his balls in my hand and reaching beneath them to the crack between his buttocks.
His tongue was furiously flicking one nipple, and then it moved to the other to offer the same treatment. I weighed his testicles in my hand — they seemed swollen, heavy — and caressed them, reveling in the war
mth, the pulsation, the life that throbbed in my palm. His life, his warmth. I slid my hand up the shaft again to discover that a long string of precum was oozing out the tip. I lubricated my fingers with it and began to squeeze him to stroke him, to coax even more of the sweet slick slime into my loving palm. I sat up and then leaned over to taste his penis, licking the liquid, loving his sweet saltiness. He gasped as my mouth engulfed his cock.
I had never been any good at oral sex, but his appreciation was gratifying. I couldn’t take him deep, but I moved the head of his warm cock in and out of my mouth slowly and sensuously, the way I wanted him to move in and out of the oozing space between my thighs. My rear was up in the air, and the thought of how obscene I would look to anyone watching excited me and moistened my sex further. He seemed to sense my need and slid two fingers inside me, stimulating my engorged clitoris on their way in and out, in and out. I straddled his face, giving him a look at my brazen, oozing, open pussy.
I realized that I liked the taste of his meat in my mouth, his precum seasoning the flavorful, fragrant skin of his penis, and it made my mouth water. I was positively drooling over his sex, and as I licked and sucked my saliva slurped out noisily and ran down his rod to pool and glisten in his pubic hair. I tightened my lips around him so that when the head of his penis left and entered my mouth, it would be squeezed more lovingly, and every time I took him into my mouth, I licked him with more and more passion. Then, without warning, his mouth moved in on me.
The flicking of his tongue along the wet slit of my pussy was electrifying. And when at the end of each long, slippery stroke he flicked my clit with the end of his tongue, I quivered involuntarily and pressed my slick, oozing crotch down more firmly onto his face. The wet sounds coming from between my legs were almost as erotic as the sensation of his thick, slithering tongue intruding itself into the hot wetness there. I moved my mouth down to his balls again and licked them, and the pulsating hairy spot behind them. The sour smell of his anus was erotic to me, much to my surprise, and I even ventured to lick around its edge. He moaned in ecstasy and then abruptly flipped me onto my back and turned himself around to kiss me and let us taste each other’s most intimate flavors. His lower face was wet with my juices, and I lapped them up eagerly as he positioned his penis at the entrance to my vagina. Somehow it seemed appropriate that our first sexual encounter should be in this basic, old fashioned position—I on my back with my legs wide open, he hovering over me with his swollen cock pressing against my wet, willing entrance.
‘Oohhhhhhhhh… hhhhhhhhhhhh… hhhhhhhhnnnnn… nnnnnnnnnnnn!!’ I moaned as he slid slowly but firmly into my warmth. He stretched me where I had not been stretched for so long, and he himself moaned and grunted with pleasure as he filled me up, and I felt his pulsating penis pressing against my cervix..
‘You feel like heaven,’ he whispered in my ear.
‘I am in heaven,’ I whispered back, and I then licked his ear, fucking it with my tongue as he began fucking me.
My orgasm caught me by surprise, I had never come so quickly before. It was as if all my being suddenly centered between my legs and then spread out to the tips of my toes and fingers as well as exploding out my ears and the top of my head. I tried to scream in joy but could only grunt and gasp my ecstasy. In the middle of this bliss I was concerned I might have come before he was ready, but to my amazement my orgasm did not end! The heavenly sensations continued as my whole body went into rigid spasms. My ecstatic pussy contracted vise-like around his cock, but somehow he managed to keep stroking in and out. I was aware of my breasts bouncing and flopping as he thrust back and forth, their distended nipples sensitive to each movement. ‘I—I can’t—it won’t stop!’ I managed to gasp out.
He simply replied, ‘You are amazing,’ as he continued to fuck me, his eyes roving over my breasts, my belly, my crotch, and back up to my face.
After several minutes of sheer exhausting pleasure, he increased the speed of his thrusts, and I heard him moan—almost roar—as he filled me with his semen. Most of the friction between us disappeared and was replaced by a wonderful slickness as his juices and mine splashed and oozed out of my body. My orgasms subsided, and as I came to a more normal state of consciousness, I found myself lying in sheets soaked with sweat and sexual fluids, with a wonderful man lying limp on top of me and inside me.
Before too long, his penis grew flaccid and slid out of my pussy. I reached for it and stroked it gently and lovingly, enjoying its slippery coating. He reached for my dripping pussy and slid his fingers all around in the thick slime which covered my crotch. Then he slid two fingers inside me and began to play inside me, suddenly and unexpectedly bringing me to one more shattering orgasm.
And now here we were in the honeymoon suite. Keeping his tongue engaged with mine, he lifted the hem of my wedding dress (a belted shift, in delicate green—no need for a white gown, whom would I be kidding?), caressing his way up my legs, until he reached the bare thighs above my garters. He broke the kiss, gave me a quizzical look, and broke into a grin as he gathered my bare buttocks into his hands. Moving one hand around to my damp pussy, he said wonderingly, ‘You did it.’
‘I said I would.’ I could say no more as his finger slid into my slit. His other hand found my anus and probed it. My own hands were caressing his growing penis where it bulged through his suit pants.
I had made a promise, in response to a fantasy of his, that I would wear no panties at the wedding. He must have thought I was joking, but I had been absolutely serious. And it had been incredibly exciting. I hadn’t told him yet, but one of my wedding presents to him was going to be a pledge to give up underwear as much as possible. I couldn’t go without a bra all the time, my breasts sag and sway way to much for that, not to mention the fact that my large nipples are hard to hide even with a bra. But what, really, is the use of panties? Just another barrier to keep him out of the place I most want him to be.
I do seem to get excited more easily when I don’t have panties on, and excess moisture could sometimes present a problem. At the moment, though, all that wetness just presented an opportunity.
‘It’s a good thing I didn’t know during the ceremony,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure I could have gotten through with the appropriate solemnity.’
‘I knew,’ I said, ‘and I thought I behaved with remarkable decorum for a woman with vaginal fluids oozing down her thighs.’
‘You were the picture of ladylike gentility.’ He lifted me by my butt, pressing my crotch to his. ‘You still are.’
I gently released myself from his arms and lay back on the bed. I lifted my knees and lewdly spread my thighs apart, fully exposing my moist, orange-fringed pussy. I loved the way his eyes stared at my sodden sex. I could smell myself, the pungent tang of vaginal wetness, and I knew he could too.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he whispered, and he pressed his lips to me slithering his tongue out to taste my warm, flowing juices. I felt something warm flowing all through me, and I knew that I needed to come and soon. I lifted my hips to press my pussy to his mouth, and he reached beneath me to cup my buttocks in his hands and pull me to him. His tongue flicked my proud, eager clitoris and I felt shivers throughout my body. The wet sounds of his tongue in and on and around my sex filled the room, together with my moans, his heavy breathing, and the writhing of my body on the bed.
The phone rang.
I was sure he would not answer it. He had promised that no matter what pressing business came off at the office, he was going to be available only to
me for this brief, torrid honeymoon.
But he lifted his glistening mouth from my pussy and said, ‘I have to take this.’ Then sat on the side of the bed, took the receiver in one hand, and slid two fingers of his other hand into my vagina.
‘Hello?’ He slid his fingers out to slide my clitoris between them. ‘Yes, I understand.’ He reinserted his fingers and found the sensitive spot inside the top of my slit, I splashed myself up against his palm. ‘That will be fine. Thank you very much.’ He hung up the phone and with two hands spread my copious moisture all over my crotch, soaking my pubic hair and spreading the slime down into my anus. I moaned, and he said, ‘I’m so sorry, but that was the front desk. We have to go claim our dinner reservation or we’ll lose it.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ I objected, pressing his hand to me so that my vaginal fluids oozed up between our fingers.
‘Could have fooled me,’ he said, leaning down to kiss me and share with me the pungent taste of excited pussy. I opened his mouth with my tongue and lapped up the slick goodness inside. He stood and adjusted his tie in the mirror. He smiled as he looked down at me, lying on the bed with my wedding dress hiked up over my waist and with my thighs wide open and my pussy soppingly bare, framed by translucent white thigh-high stockings… ‘You make a beautiful bride. I’ll have the sexiest date in the restaurant.’
‘I can’t entice you to stay here?’ I ran a finger along my slit and stretched out the slime in a long shiny line.
‘You could. But I have a better offer. We’ll continue these activities at dinner, under the table.’
‘Ooooh, you are nasty. And you do know how to please me.’ Giving my pussy one last regretful caress, I got up and straightened my dress and my hair. When I reached for a tissue, he stopped me.
‘I want to go into that restaurant knowing that you are literally oozing down your legs for me.’
At those words, I swear I oozed some more. I could feel hot juice rolling down my thigh, and the not completely unpleasant stickiness of my bare crotch. My hemline was below the knee, so I didn’t think any drippings would show, but I wasn’t sure. I’d never been quite this wet before. I felt that the squishing between my legs when I walked must be audible. My swollen labia, my erect clitoris, my damp thighs, even my turgid nipples—all cried out for attention and would have to be denied, for a time.
I touched up my makeup—no small task—and then we headed down the hall to the elevator. It was eight floors down, and as we rode I stood in front of my husband facing away from him, my hands behind me tracing the insistent hardness in his trousers. His hands were on my breasts, gently stroking and tweaking the sensitive nipples he could feel protruding under my clothes. His mouth was on my neck, gently licking and sucking. My hot crotch continued to throb and ooze, waiting for its moment. Just before we hit the first floor, he slid his hands down my belly, across my crotch, and down to the hem of my dress, which he lifted enough to run a finger through my hot wetness. As the elevator door opened to reveal a group of elderly women waiting, he was innocently sucking off a finger and using his other hand to propel me out into the lobby and toward the restaurant.
The restaurant was expensive and dark. We were seated at a tiny corner table covered by a floor-length table cloth and illuminated by a single candle. As I slid into my seat, I pulled my skirt up and spread my legs, giving my poor hot sex some air and feeling more wanton every second. He sat opposite me, his eyes leering into mine in the candlelight, his hand stroking my stockinged knee, moving up to my bare, sensitive thigh.
He squeezed my knee once more and then withdrew to study the wine list.
‘I know you don’t care much for burgundy, but there is a particularly wonderful label here, and if you are ordering the filet, it will be a perfect companion for it.’
Alma
- 25.03.2020
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