Ramona Jeans Wanton Honeymoon

Note: This is the second part of the story, following

Ramona Jean's Sinful Weekend.

*

Despite the fact that Mona was now on her honeymoon, as she sat leaning on and clutching the upper arm of her dozing husband on the swaying, thumping train, on a journey to a faraway land, she felt like a character in a spy novel. Never had she been privy to so many

secrets

. In the midst of such a public event as a wedding - even her small ceremony was announced in the newspaper - much secrecy surrounded the wedding night and the scandalous boudoir gifts acquired. '

Don't ever let your father see this, even just on the hanger,'

Madelyn had said about the homemade halter-necked nightgown she had crafted for Mona. Assembled mainly from the open lace remnants of the wedding dress, but

only

the lace, its upper bodice left practically nothing to the imagination, and even Jeff's mother blushed at the sight of it during the bridal shower.

The height of Mona's new career in espionage was the early morning spiral notebook briefing from Madelyn on what to expect on the wedding night - and beyond. Her mother, surely violating church teachings but not wanting her daughter to be as uninformed as she had been, even produced a tattered, illustrated book. The text was Hindu, Mona surmised, but it was filled with primitive, eye-opening drawings of Asian people copulating in various positions, and included depictions of oral gratification.

'Remember all this now, because I'm going to burn this thing before your father gets home!"

Mona's mother had written about the heretical, exotic volume, hidden in the attic after it was found among the belongings of a deceased bachelor uncle years before.

In the railroad coach, blonde Jefferson, in a jacket and tie, his hair freshly cut as it had been the day they met, slouched in the seat. Mrs. T. Jefferson Payne, feeling very grown up in heels, stockings, a lavender suit and pillbox hat with a bit of netting surrounding it, occasionally refused to believe she was Mrs. anyone, and she was still a young girl in overalls on a trip to see Maw-Maw. The reflected image of her in the darkened window, in full makeup, corsage beginning to wilt, was surreal and occasionally obscured by red crossing flashers and auto headlights, seemingly trying to peek into the car at the newlyweds.

While the distant lands of the many books Ramona had consumed would always beckon, their 'faraway' destination this night was not so much

where

as

when

. Eighteenth Century Virginia awaited them in the form of restored Colonial Williamsburg. The town was always nicely decorated for the holidays, and both Mona and Jeff had enjoyed their high school field trips there. As a sensible wedding and Christmas gift, his parents had reserved them several nights' stay at a tourist cabin in town, as well as their train tickets.

The horn blasts of a passing train of black coal cars awoke Jefferson, who immediately grinned at his bride. Moments later a couple stepped past them with aromatic paper cups of coffee, and the young blonde man spelled out an invitation with his burgeoning sign language skills and Mona nodded, both of them arose and stretched. They passed hand-in-hand through the cold vestibules toward the lounge car, the shifting floors reminiscent of a fun house. Once in a narrow corridor, Ramona made a sudden detour into an empty sleeping compartment. The door had been swinging back and forth with the motion of the nodding car. The light from the narrow lavatory revealed the sheets were hanging sloppily from the upper bunk, which was folded against the wall over a sofa strewn with a discarded newspaper.

Mona had concluded the compartment had been vacated during the train's recent long stop in Richmond, as no occupant would tolerate the flopping door. She latched it behind them and wasted no time in feeling around her husband's jacket pockets for his flask, a bourbon filled, surreptitious gift from his best man, who was a neighbor and classmate.

Jeff chuckled, as he hadn't been sure if his new wife knew of its presence. She took a surprising double gulp and gently pushed him backwards until he was sitting on the newspaper-covered sofa. The young woman's assertiveness remained from her younger days, when she knew not of words, and of necessity had to nudge, pound or grab something to call attention to it. Her lover had not seemed to mind, as it was a more precise expression than a clouded phrase or reference, even though the latter was more 'ladylike'. All afternoon, they had told each other how wonderful they felt, and no more words seemed necessary now, as the moonlight created passing shadows on the portions of the walls that weren't lit by the compartment's aluminum clad washroom.

Ramona looked at the blue eyes of her smiling husband

-

they even sparkled in the dim light of her shadow.

Husband

, a word that at one time had no association with her, and seemed as foreign as any in Sanskrit, that would now have meaning every day of her life.

As the blonde groom sat and swallowed the straight whiskey, it struck him once again that he had a bride. Sure, he had some occasional doubts about getting married, especially to the first girl he had done any serious fooling around with, but it was love at first sight, and the idea of living his life without her at his side was inconceivable. His friends' admonitions all melted away as his new wife, now sans hat and jacket, hiked her skirt and slip up past her garters, briefly revealing her bare thighs and pink lace panties and the dark hair within - petite Mona had never 'needed' a girdle, not that any were available in her size anyway. The beautiful brunette climbed into his lap facing him, straddled his pelvis and parted her red lips, her tongue extended slightly to greet his.

Jeff moaned as they kissed deeply and frantically for the first time in weeks. The two of course 'made out' whenever practical all summer. However, no opportunities like their first night together occurred, but they were able to trade rushed orgasms on a few occasions thanks to the borrowed Buick wagon, or on a wooded creek bank during a fishing and picnic expedition uphill from the Tompkins' store. Soon after Jefferson's proposal had been accepted that first Saturday in November. the two of them resolved to limit their affections to brief moments of kissing only, which gave them nearly two month's worth of unabated lust to unleash upon each other once the 'big night' arrived.

As their compartment rocked subtly, the wheels thumped more rapidly beneath them as their hands slid under shirts and skirts, caressing a hairy chest and a soft, lace-ensconced derriere. As she took in the scent of his Aqua Velva, the petite brunette imagined their passion was making the train faster, not the fact that they were now in flatter terrain, and the tracks were straighter and descending toward the Virginia tidewater.

Ramona's body rapidly began to respond to the pleasures of their slippery, dueling, intertwined tongues and Jeff's hands gripping her torso. They had left her bottom and were caressing her bare lower back- she had worn only a half-slip - possibly a preamble to his maneuvering around her ribcage to the front and shoving her bra - he had never bothered with the hooks - up and out of the way of his fondling, tugging and twisting fingers.

Her conscience, largely quiet the last few weeks, began its rants once more to counter the warmth between her garters.

'Too assertive! You're still acting like a harlot, not the obedient wife you must be! Didn't you listen to the minister? Also, you didn't pay for this compartment! The railroad police will throw you off the train for this!"

The elastic band of her pink Warner's brassiere grazed her stiffened nipples and Jeff's strong fingers soon followed with their own agenda as her body pulsed with desire. Mona's hands had developed their own mind of sorts when they knew there was an erection in Jefferson's pants, and this night was no different. Her hand, the day's white glove removed just for this occasion, slipped down into the crevasse between their stomachs.

Mona had missed his solidified organ's insistent presence. During a mid-October handjob under the stars as they sat on the Buick wagon's tailgate, his penis had almost seemed angry for having been ignored for such a long time, slinging his seed far into the darkness. Now, with an even greater interval having passed, she was looking forward to a nearly uncontrollable, maniacal monster which would repeatedly ravage her innards.

In the short amount of time they had been kissing and groping, Mona's vagina had quickly transformed into a demanding, famished

pussy.

The beautiful brunette had become unable to resist. Partially emboldened by the whiskey, she wanted him right

there

in the pilfered, trash-strewn compartment.

"Now!" Ramona said, her hand running up and down the length of his solid, shrouded bulge.

"No!"

her conscience screamed.

"You're on top of him amongst a newspaper and it stinks like smoke in here! You could have found a nicer back alley to lose your virginity in!"

Jefferson, more in control than his bride, was unsure exactly what she wanted, but thought maybe a preliminary bout between his jolting erection and her hands was on the card, to get the first, frantic orgasm taken care of to ensure a longer duration for the main event. Happy that his beautiful girl was still as enthused as ever, he slipped his seemingly petrified dick out of his unfastened and unzipped trousers.

Ramona Jean immediately grabbed her old pal, as she had begun to think of his penis, and caressed its bare skin, now with both hands. She had missed its nearly constant pointing at her, and its more recent habit of badgering of her breasts. The heavily breathing brunette tugged on it with her palms wrapped tightly around, feeling the skin slide along the engorged muscle.

To Jeff's shock, his new wife gathered her lavender skirt and slip up around her waist and yanked her pink panties to the side, exposing the labia that always seemed ready to jump out of whatever sheathing covered them - she had to wear a skirted swimsuit, they were so conspicuous. His horny bride actually wanted their first

fuck

- right there on the train! While he was happy to oblige - he wanted his dick to feel the silky, wet, heated, smothering sensation his fingers had enjoyed - Jeff knew this would be a short one, since he had quite a reproductive reserve built up after nearly two months. Resolving to pull out of her in plenty of time, the head of his penis made contact with her heated, wet labia for the first time.

Panting, euphoric Mona, looking into her adoring husband's eyes, lowered her hips and felt the intruder at her gate. She gasped at the spreading of her outer labia. He was nearly entering her.

Suddenly, Jefferson lifted her off, and her vagina instantly mourned as his penis grew more distant. He began to stuff it back into his pants. She panicked. Had he changed his mind about her? Was she being an aggressive slut, like her conscience had told her?

Smiling and pointing out the window with his unfastened pants bulging, he then spelled out 'Williamsburg'. The momentum shifted as the train braked, and relieved Mona understood the conductor must have been walking through the car, yelling the town name, like she had seen dozens of time in the movies.

Two

A yellow taxi, its lower periphery covered in a dull gray coating of salty winter haze, arrived beneath the multi-hued neon sign of the Colonel John Page Motor Court. A smaller lit glass placard over a glass door identified the motel office, a modernistic, mismatched addition to a white clapboard house, likely the proprietor's residence. Adjacent to the house were a dozen or so cabins, nearly all unlit, which lined a wooded, horseshoe-shaped drive that extended away from the road. Within the driveway, a low chain-link fence surrounded a swimming pool, closed for the winter with a leaf covered, dark green tarp stretched across. It looked like a giant animal pelt - one of her father's hobbies - Ramona thought as she stepped out of the cab into the cold air.

While her current trousseau outfit was new, the salt and pepper wool overcoat she wore was not, purchased used by her frugal mother, it was at least ten years old. She stood off to the side, her hair brushed straight and down around her shoulders, her third arrangement of the day, as her groom handled the luggage and paid the driver. Jefferson's beige military trench coat was a hand-me-down as well, a remnant of his father's days as an army officer.

The door to the darkened office was locked. It was after ten o'clock; the train had been an hour late. Jeff knocked loudly, wanting shelter for his shivering bride. A single lamp came on inside, and a tall, thin, elderly woman in a light blue bathrobe appeared, hesitated, and only opened the door only far enough to poke her head out. Gray hair in curlers beneath a scarf framed her scowling face, a cigarette was stuffed in the corner of her mouth.

"Ya'll have to go somewhere else!" she yelled angrily, gathering her robe against the chill. "This is a respect'ble place! I ought t'call the sheriff! I bet Pocahontas there is under age!" the woman began to shut the door, but Jefferson quickly jammed his foot into the gap, scuffing one of his new loafers.

"Hey! Wait!" Jefferson yelled with an anger Mona hadn't seen from him before. "We have a

paid

reservation ma'am!" he said loudly, trying his best to be polite. "My mom sent you a

check!

Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Jefferson Payne!" It was his first time saying that aloud, and it sounded unfamiliar to him. He reached back and grasped Ramona's white-gloved hand.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh! The woman's expression instantly changed to an excited one and she flung the door open, flipped on the office lights and outstretched her arms as if the arrivals were cherished relatives. "The newlyweds! Oh, oh, I'm so sorry! I thought you were from Fort Eustis. Sometimes the soldiers try to bring...

girls

...around." The woman motioned down the road dismissively and set her cigarette into the slotted rim of a black plastic ashtray. "Ah! The beautiful bride! Well, aren't you just adorable!" she said to Ramona, touching the side of her face, somewhat as an apology for mistaking the girl in the battered old coat for a teenaged Chickahominy prostitute. "We have our best cabin all ready for ya'll!"

Signed in as 'Mr. & Mrs. T.J. Payne. Rockbridge Baths, Va.' and given the location of the ice and vending machines, the young couple stepped briskly toward the back of the semi-circle toward number seven, which was bigger than the other cabins in size and sided with unevenly edged, rough-hewn lumber, but decked out in conforming white paint with black trim.

They reached the covered front porch, and despite the cold, Jeff asked Mona to wait outside while he carried the luggage in. Apparently satisfied with the accommodations, he returned in his rolled up shirtsleeves a couple minutes later and kissed her on the mouth, then deftly scooped his bride into his arms.

She clung to his muscular neck, giggling as they crossed the threshold. The kindling Jeff had ignited while she was on the porch began to force sparks up the chimney of the brick fireplace on one wall. Light from a single table lamp revealed that the pale green room was cursorily decorated with white ribbon bows and sashes on the iron bed frame and several arrangements of silk flowers - worn and slightly dusty - had been placed on the dresser and various small tables for the newlyweds. Her large, dark brown eyes reflected the dancing orange glow of the fire as he looked into them, celebrating his terrific luck at meeting and marrying such a sweet, beautiful woman.

Still in his clutches, she let her overcoat and purse fall off one arm as she looked into his adoring blue eyes. Suddenly the spell was broken as he hoisted Mona up and draped her, face down behind him, over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Her arms free, she was able to shed the coat, laughing as he spun her around a few times. The petite brunette then felt Jefferson's hand unhook and tug the zipper down the back of her skirt. She squealed and flutter kicked her feet with surprise and mock protest as she felt his hard knuckles against her lower back, fingers digging beneath and gathering the waistbands of her skirt, slip, garter belt and panties into a singular bunch and forcefully yanking them downward, exposing her derriere. Expecting a playful buttock slap or two - the trading of which was a late summer, post-swimming addition to their repertoire - she was surprised as her clothes continued their quick journey down her thighs instead. Her moist panties momentarily clung to her vulva, attempting a token resistance to their removal. Apparently Jeff was picking up where they left off in the train's compartment. Ramona Jean's heart raced as she realized

this was it

. She was being stripped for her first

fuck

. No damned railroad conductor would interrupt them this time.

The clothing mayhem continued as they made their way to the bed, leaving Mona's garments on the wood floor and the braided oval rug concentric to the room. By the time Jefferson had unceremoniously flipped his bride onto her back on the bouncy mattress like a sack of feed at his job, he was pleasantly surprised. Her pink lace bra greeted him as his beautiful, nearly drunk wife - the flask appeared once more in the taxi - had assisted by unbuttoning her suit jacket and blouse.

Ramona was now joyfully naked from the waist down, but still sported her white gloves, faux pearl necklace, earrings and lavender pillbox hat. She was lying on the pale yellow chenille bedspread, torso twisted to the point her ribcage was evident - her body always looked a bit emaciated, no matter how much she ate - thighs together but calves askew, in front of her husband, lit by the room's lamp and more so, the growing fire. One foot remained covered by a taupe stocking, which was still attached to the other via the clasped white garter belt. The pretty brunette merged her legs and turned completely onto her hip and slid the encumbrance off her foot, completing Jeff's opus, as it was, as she stared intently at him. Her gaze didn't break as she slowly turned onto her back and raised her arms above her head. His raven-haired bride then pointed her toes - a carryover from her proficient high school gymnastics - and spread her thighs as wide as she could, her knees bent and flanking her midsection, feet elevated in an unmistakable invitation. Her blatantly exhibited vagina, egged on my her groom's surprise aggression, felt as if it was heating more rapidly than the burning logs across the room, and was seemingly resonating with its need for attention.

"You are acting like such a SLUT!"

Mona's conscience began to deride her. "

What happened to demurely staying beneath the covers until he makes his advances, like your mother told you?"

As Jefferson reached up to loosen the knot in his gold-colored tie, he suddenly looked at the ceiling and uttered several unheard short words, definitely expletives, Mona surmised. Someone was apparently at the door. He covered Ramona with his overcoat as if it was a cape, and stepped around the obstacle course of the skirt, shoes and women's undergarments on the floor. He slid sideways out the door discreetly and soon returned with a champagne bottle in an iced pewter bucket - a gift via proxy from the staff of the insurance agency his father owned - which Jeff hastily set on a side table before returning to his horny, waiting bride.

Ramona flung the coat aside like a bullfighter and resumed her spread-eagle posture, bouncing and gyrating her pelvis slightly as her desire for her husband escalated to an aching intensity she hadn't thought possible. Her bottom was nearly overhanging the edge of the mattress, ensuring no impediments on the path to her deflowering. The young bride's mind, awash in its storm of alcohol and lust, allowed only a minimal vocabulary to escape her lips. While she had always felt comfort in his embraces, and the touch of his mouth on her breasts and lips had become an important sustenance, a specific event overtook her thoughts.