Synopsis: Pete is becoming more comfortable with Sarah's "extra" assignments how that they have begun to swing.
Part III -- Our Story
Chapter Fifteen
Sarah and I were married shortly before Christmas. It was a simple ceremony performed by a justice of the peace in City Hall. Nonnie at tended, of course, as well as Willa and Ruth. Rick and Paula completed the guest list.
Afterward, we enjoyed a magnificent dinner at Brown's. Then Sarah and I retired to a honeymoon suite in the same residential hotel where Mr. Bose and Cynthia lived.
I wouldn't have wasted the money, but Mr. Bose had arranged it, and the bill was paid by Bose, Rothchild and Gibbons as a wedding present.
After I carried my bride across the threshold in proper wedding tradition, and we opened the bottle of champagne waiting for us in a cooling stand, we solemnly toasted each other.
I knew, of course, that she was naked under her dress, which stoked my libido even while I repeated my vows. Unlike the more provocative way she dressed when entertaining a client, she now wore a low cut, mid thigh length, spaghetti strapped light blue sheath with the color almost exactly the same as her eyes. A single strand of pearls bisected her chest calling attention to the beginning of her cleavage, pearl stud earrings, dark stockings and heels completed her ensemble. If her breasts had seemed to wobble and jiggle more than was usual as we had entered the judge's chambers, everyone present had politely ignored it.
Now, as we sat sipping our wine, Sarah broke the silence. "Wow!" she said.
"Are you feeling as strange as I am, considering our new status?" I asked.
Her eyes sparkled. "This is a second time for you -- but I've never been married before. This is going to take some getting used to." She nervously twisted her wedding band around her finger.
I nodded. "Buyer's remorse setting in already?"
Sarah grinned. "Hardly. I saw your hard-on while we were standing in front of the judge, and all I could think of was how good it would feel sliding into my married pussy."
"I guess some things never change," I said.
"Well, speaking of changes, now that we're married, I'll have to tell Mr. Bose to find another escort for his clients. . . won't I?"
That question had been uppermost in my mind since we had applied for a license and set the date. Sarah was looking more intently at me. "Well, won't I?" she insisted.
I didn't know what to say. My conventional side was urging me to agree -- yet the devil sitting on my other shoulder was reminding me how much I had begun looking forward to her occasional assignations. I recognized that feeling stemmed from a serious moral lapse on my part -- and yet . . .
I attempted to temporize. "I don't know," I said slowly. "How would you feel giving it up?" She started to reply, but I cut her off. "The thing is," I went on, "if I say 'yes', I'm afraid in time you'll come to resent me just like Amy did. . ."
Sarah was shaking her head. "Oh, no you don't," she said. "You can't put your trip on me. I've been completely honest with you -- how about showing me the same courtesy?"
Frankly, I didn't know what to say. She saw the indecision on my face. "Come here, dear," she said. "This is our honeymoon. Isn't it time we got better acquainted?" She stood and turned her back to me. "Unhook me, please," she said.
My fingers turned to thumbs as I clumsily seized the fabric and attempted to disconnect the tiny bits of metal at the top of her zipper. Finally, in frustration, she turned toward me again, put her hands behind her neck, and released the hook from its eye. I heard the quiet purr of her zipper being lowered while the fabric sagged from her body. She smiled, did a small bump and grind, slipped the straps from her shoulders, and stood before me, holding her dress in her hands, her firm breasts and taut, proud nipples betraying her arousal as she watched the expression on my face. Then she lowered her dress and gracefully stepped out of it, draping it over a nearby chair. Uncharacteristically, she posed, turned slightly to one side, one hand on her hip and knee partly bent, obscuring the sparse auburn hair that protected her mons. "Like what you see, sailor?"
I had seen her nude countless times during the time we had lived together, but she had never, ever, presented such an erotic picture as she did at that moment. Frankly, I was literally speechless as I drank in her beauty. Her hair had been arranged in to frame her beautiful, almost classic features. She wore a modest amount of eye shadow and mascara to emphasize her large blue-green eyes, and her lips had been coated with a glistening gloss and were almost as red as the crinkled areola and engorged nipples that topped her slightly pendulous, pear shaped breasts. The pearls she still wore contrasted beautifully with the darker tone of her skin.
My eye followed the slope of her softly rounded belly to the juncture between her thighs and the wisp of hair that covered her womanhood. Dark thigh high hose and heels that sculpted her legs completed the picture. Here was my very own Aphrodite! Sarah would never be more beautiful than she was at that moment.
"My God . .!" was all I could manage.
My face undoubtedly told her what she wanted to hear, and she smiled in return. "Here I am," she said, breaking the spell, "what you see is what you get!"
I swept her into my arms. She wrapped her arms around my neck, and we exchanged a deep, passionate kiss. Then, while we were still teasing one another with our hot, wet lips and tongue, I released her and began trying to undress. She released me and began to help by unbuckling my belt and lowering my zipper while I unbuttoned my shirt.
My cock had never completely softened, and now, as her cool fingers gently seized it after pulling my Jockey briefs down, it immediately began to stiffen again. She pushed me back. As my legs came into contact with the bed, I abruptly and unexpectedly sat down.
Sarah dropped to her knees in front of me. Leaning forward, she briefly skinned my foreskin back and licked the underside of my cock, teasing the frenulum -- that incredibly sensitive juncture of nerve endings under the head of any man's cock -- with the wet tip of her practiced tongue. Then she slid my foreskin shut and turned her attention to my shoes and socks, after which she stood and pulled my pants off my legs. "This is a one time deal," she said, grinning at me. "You're a big boy . . ." she leaned forward and while I admired the sway of her beautiful breasts, she closed her hand around my cock -- "a VERY big boy," she continued, "and the next time you can take your own shoes off!"
