She pushed herself up, lifting until our eyes could focus on each other.
She smiled, a happy smile.
"Don't spank me for what I'm about to say," she said.
I chuckled and pulled her down for a kiss.
"You haven't been naughty, have you?" I asked.
"No, David, but I need to get off. My flab is making me uncomfortable like this," she said.
She covered my mouth quickly.
"No, Honey, I'm not 'putting myself down' as you say," she said, "it's just a fact. My belly is soft and fat and this is uncomfortable. I'm not ashamed. Hell, you have me convinced and I'm going to make you take me to Gator Bayou later and I'm going to pose and stretch and I hope I'll be looked at. But right now," and she sort of wiggled and I could feel the softness of her belly moving against me, "this is uncomfortable."
I smiled and kissed her.
"Okay," I said, and pushed, helping her roll off of me.
When she sort of flopped onto her back with a big sigh her nipple was right there, almost dribbling it was leaking so badly. It seemed to beckon so I covered it and began nursing. This wasn't suckling for nourishment, this was just holding her nipple in my mouth and enjoying such an intimate sharing.
She must have liked it too because she started stroking my hair and humming a soft lullaby.
I chuckled, released her nipple, and said, "Have you ever listened to the words of that lullaby?"
"Sure," she said softly, relaxed.
"Have you ever thought about them?" I asked.
"Well," she said, and I could feel the slight tension in her body as she stopped to think, "I guess I haven't really."
"Welllllllllll," I said, drawing out the alveolar lateral approximant, the "l" sound, "Think about it. In the old days when you had to keep working in the field or face starvation, you'd take the baby with you and tie the little cradle into a tree. The wind blows, the cradle rocks, the baby sleeps."
I grinned, kissed her nipple, and looked up at her.
"But then, oops, the bough breaks, and down comes baby, cradle and all," I said. "Hope the little tyke survives."
"You're TERRIBLE," she said but she was giggling as I latched on, nursing, keeping both of us satisfied.
"Okay, Husband," she said and I thought,
"You've been reading too much Robert Heinlein again,"
"Come along and wash my back. I'm a mess."
I rolled out of bed and trotted around to the other side, grinned, and offered my hand.
"Your escort awaits, my Bride," I said. I read Heinlein too.
She giggled and I helped her stand.
"Oh, God," she said as I held her there, staring, slowly looking her up and down.
"You are beautiful," I said, and she was. Her face was still full and flushed and with no makeup I thought she looked great even if the years did show. Her breasts, both drained now, hung loose, the stretch marks showing bright, her nipples distended, dark, and pointing at the floor. Her belly hung, empty now, not the big roll of the obese but the heavy flap of a woman who has recently delivered a baby. The two soft hemispheres were marked by livid stretchmarks and one of those weird tufts of hair had formed right at the crease where her belly apron split into two flat hemispheres.
Between her legs, her inner lips, stretched so badly during the birth, dangled inches below the soft, plump outer lips, themselves hanging visibly.
Her thighs showed the fat pads she accumulated in her pregnancy, her calves were oddly slender, almost out of proportion to the rest of her, and her feet were still swollen, toes like little sausages pushing out from the pads of fat.
She was gorgeous.
In the shower, I washed her face being careful around her eyes. I washed and rinsed and washed and rinsed.
Her hair was a tangled mass as I started working the shampoo into it. I took my time. I rinsed, worked a hefty dollop of conditioner in to loosen it up, and then shampooed her again. With her hair finally clean and conditioned I started on her body.
And no, there is nothing, absolutely nothing, sexier than a woman's body that first few days after she gives birth. I washed her breasts carefully. I made sure to lift them so I could clean where they lay against her body and could get sweaty and rashy. I washed her arms, making her giggle when I was careful to get those fat pads at the backs of her upper arms, deliberately making them jiggle and her giggle.
I did her belly, each soft roll separately, being sure to wash all the way to the bottom of the crease, another place where rashes might form.
I was careful with her pussy. I knew she was sore but still, she needed to be cleaned. The way she dangled, I could hold and soap those lips. She giggled when I lifted her clitoral hood and washed there too, making her squeal.
It was a sensual shower because we both enjoyed touching each other, kissing each other, and yes, loving each other in every way. I got to my knees and did her legs and feet. Then I turned her around and did her legs and ass.
Her
gluteal sulcus
, the crease where her butt meets her legs, was sagging a little. I was fascinated, hell, I was captivated, by how quickly changes to her body had happened. She always had a pretty obvious bubble butt but this morning it was sagging. I suppose it was the way her skin had stretched and now, without the tension of a uterus carrying eight or nine pounds of baby out front, stretching skin to hold it taut, was part of it.
Regardless of precisely why, the result was, I thought, absolutely striking.
"Your ass is even more beautiful today," I said, loud enough to be heard over the shower.
She turned and smiled.
"Even more spankable you mean?" she asked.
I grinned up at her.
"If it comes to that, yes," I said.
I stood then and started on her back. Those heavy pads at her shoulder blades seemed to have changed too, another difference brought on by hormones and the loss of skin tautness as the beachball she had swollen was gone.
I washed them and, as I had with her belly and breasts, I made sure to wash all the way to the bottom of the fold.
She hummed softly as I did it, my fingers digging deeply.
I did her shoulders and neck and patted her, saying, "Finished."
She did me then, taking her time, following the same pattern, face to hair to body. I thought she spent more time than was strictly necessary on my dick but, well, I didn't complain.
We dried each other afterward. We laughed and she giggled when I jiggled that sexy belly apron.
There was just s second of awkwardness when she looked down and saw the little stain on the towel I was using to dry between her legs. I smiled, said, "Hold that thought," and went into the bedroom to retrieve the sanitary belt from the pile of clothes we had sort of casually deposited on the floor.
Back in the bathroom, I got to my knees on the thick bathmat. In part, it was to give me a good view to get the belt and pad on her but in part, well, shit, let's be honest here.
In part it was me worshiping at the feet of a fertility Goddess.
Okay, okay, I know that's a bit over the top but, well, that's how it felt.
I adjusted the belt at her belly, hooked the pad in the back, pulled it through her parted legs, and hooked it in front. When I leaned back to look she smiled and struck a pose.
"Sexier than any bikini," I said, and I meant it.
"And what," she asked, grinning a little, "do you have in mind for me to wear as you show me off?"
I smiled, kissed her, and said, "As little as I can get by with."
I walked her into the bedroom and then started rummaging through her closet but everything there was too formal. Well, covered too much up.
So I started through her drawers and found something.
Remember, she had been already big and pregnant when I met her so this was new territory for me. Her body was shaped differently now.
In the back of a drawer, I found a pair of cut-off jeans that I figured wouldn't leave much to the imagination. In the next drawer up I found a T-shirt that had been cut short that I thought would show her off nicely. I figured a nursing bra, and she had several, would keep her from leaking all over the T-shirt. And that took care of her wardrobe.
So I dressed her.
Well, I put the bra on her, stepped back, admired her, and chuckled as she blushed under my gaze.
"You are SO hot," I said.
She giggled, lifted the soft flesh of her belly, and let it fall with an audible slapping sound. Relaxed like that it pretty much covered the postpartum pad between her legs.
I dropped to my knees and did the prostrating thing, my arms straight over my head as I bent forward, saying, "I am not worthy."
She laughed at that, a full-on belly laugh, and said, "Arise, Minion."
"First," I said, knee-walking forward and holding the cut-offs for her to step into. I worked them up and realized they had to button under her belly, leaving it hanging over.
"Oh, fuck," I breathed and kissed her belly button where it hung there, just begging to be kissed.
I stood and smiled at her.
"Tell me," she said.
"You are beautiful," I said.
"In this moment," she said, a single tear welling and then running down her left cheek, "I believe you."
I kissed the tear away, tasting salt, and took her hand.
At the front door, I helped her into her sandals and then walked her to the car.
On the way to the beach, we had the radio on my favorite oldies station. I could tell she was nervous but I didn't try to talk her out of it. I figured my best approach would be to just show her.
I stopped at the
Publix
store we always stopped at when we were heading for the beach. She wanted to stay in the car but I got her to come with me. It was fun, really, watching her. For the first several steps as we walked across the parking lot she was sort of hunched over, trying to make herself seem smaller. But I walked beside her, holding her hand, telling her how beautiful she was, and before long she was back, walking with back straight, shoulders back, and daring the world to fuck with her. I liked it.
We selected four different sausages, a half dozen types of cheese, a few apples, a few oranges, and stopped in the liquor department for a bottle of the cheapest Chianti they had. You know, the stuff that is so dry you wonder if you can remove paint with it if you decide you don't like it.
It wasn't tourist season yet, and it wasn't really warm enough to get the snowbirds to the beach so while we didn't have it to ourselves, there weren't many there and we had at least exchanged "hellos" with most of them.
I grabbed our beach basket, an oversized picnic basket we kept ready. I stopped to transfer the wine to the wineskin, slung our beach blanket over the top of the basket, and took her hand, walking with her to the beach.
