The Death Of Tammy Janeway Pt 04

When my mother roused me awake at 8 a.m. on the morning of my wedding day, I was still in a drunken stupor. My eyelids felt heavy, as if weighed down with bar bells. My brain was still spinning from my wild evening at Nastytown. My pussy felt wrecked. She was in shambles, not even a reasonable facsimile of a pussy, but more like a pot of steaming, overcooked noodles. With the right sort of nose one could smell the singe of burnt and charred flesh down there. I hadn't washed. I was still dripping with cum--not his, but mine.

My mom had the right sort of nose. She looked at me with a pinched expression.

"Git up, gurl. We gots to be gittin' you off to the hairdresser."

She hustled me into the shower and, when I didn't wash fast enough, she shed her housecoat, hopped into the shower with me and scrubbed me up, paying close attention to my naughty bits.

"I just s'spect you won't want yo' husband smellin' this stankin' coochie of your'n. Chile, I never see the like."

She washed my hair, too, knowing that the hairdresser would wash it again.

"Hair smellin' like a pack o' cigarettes," she grumbled. "And DICK."

I was too fucked out to complain.

"I reckon I'm gon' have to dye this white dress of your'n blue."

"Coffee," I mumbled.

"We ain't got time for all that. You shoulda thought about that last night when you was out fornicatin'. An' lift your leg up so's I can wash yo' nasty doodihole!"

"MAMA!!"

"Don't 'MAMA' me. I thought you was a Christian woman, sellin' all them magazines and them books. Don't you never crack none'a them books in my face never again."

If her goal was to shame me, she was failing miserably. She never paid attention to my religious entreaties, anyway. And I hadn't been fucked like this since that junior year Valentine's Day weekend in my dorm room at Purdue. I was too drunk to be ashamed.

Mama finally got me into some semblance of order and off to the hairdresser. I fell asleep in the chair and stole another three precious hours of slumber. When I awakened I looked like a bride-to-be. My mom smirked and made another crack about dyeing my wedding dress blue. By then my moral compass seemed to be rounding back into form. I couldn't look her in the eye. She noticed, and dialed back her acerbic commentary some. I was her youngest daughter after all. My sister was there, too, and she didn't look too happy at my mom's snide comments.

Shelby said, "Mom, chill. Everybody ties one on now and again. I'm sure Tammy will tell us about it when the time comes. Right now we have to get her into her dress."

My mom grumbled something or other and frowned. Then she shrugged and shook her head.

"C'mon, gurl. Let's go get you married."

We hustled home, where we found my dress and all of my JW bridesmaids waiting. I put on my best "I'm such a good girl" smile and took up the healthful pattern of words familiar to this group of friends. My mom and my sister took up their Janeway family smiles, too. I knew they wouldn't drop hint of my evening in Nastytown, although I also knew they intended to rag me about it until I came clean.

We had a good time getting everyone dressed and primped. Gradually, my drunken torpor faded. It's a good thing I wasn't in charge of the event; my mom was a gracious, if overbearing host. She and Shelby made sure everything came off properly. Even though they weren't baptized Sisters of the faith, they made everyone feel welcome. I overheard my spiritual Sisters making vague overtures about bringing my mom and sister into the Truth. I would have been disappointed if they hadn't.

The wedding was scheduled to start at four p.m. Shelby piled the bridesmaids into several cars and herded them off to the Kingdom Hall. I drove up afterward with my mom and dad. By the time I got there the service had started. Kingdom Halls tend to be plain buildings without basements or backrooms, so I had to make my final adjustments in the library. We had the main edifice closed off so that Donnie wouldn't see me until it was time for my dad and I to walk the aisle.

And then the music started.

I'd chosen a Kingdom Hymn to announce my entrance. When the doors opened I saw Donnie standing with his groomsmen up front. He looked so handsome in his tuxedo. In that moment I knew nothing else but he and I. Though the Kingdom Hall was packed with well-wishers, I was focused on my husband-to-be. My evening in Nastytown was a long forgotten memory.

Brother Bradley Wheeler gave the wedding talk. He made sure to point out the biblical principle of headship. Donnie, as the man, was going to be the head of our family. My job was to trust his judgment and support him through good times and bad, in sickness and health, for richer or poorer.

At the end of the talk, Brother Wheeler directed Donnie to lift my veil and open our marriage with a kiss. In truth, this was our first kiss, as Brother Wheeler proudly noted. Donnie gripped me tightly and kissed me--no tongues. I could tell that he already had an erection.

I was now a married woman, Sister Donnie Samuelson. We turned to the congregation and beamed. Donnie and I started back up the aisle. We started acknowledging our well wishers. We got halfway back up the aisle and....

SONUVAMUTHERFUCKIN'BITCH!!!! IT WAS CHAD FINNERAN!!! HE'D COME TO MY WEDDING!!!

I don't remember anything after that except the vision of my night in Nastytown. I remember nothing of my reception. My sins had come back to haunt me. I tried to smile my way through it, but I really wanted to cry. Why had he come? I kept waiting for him to start screeching out my name like Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate.

Drama like this just doesn't happen with Jehovah's Witnesses. It doesn't happen in the Kingdom Hall. I'd set myself up for the most embarrassing wedding in the history of my religion. And it's all because I just had to have one more romp before settling in to a lifetime of marriage.

Every moment of my wedding reception was torture. I sat up front with my husband. Each time I was called upon to speak or acknowledge someone or something, my response was "Huh?" I kept scanning the room for Chad. I wasn't paying attention to anything else.

When the time came for Donnie and I to trundle off for our honeymoon I felt so relieved. Chad hadn't come to the reception. For that I was thankful. But now he and I had something to talk about. I'd given him my phone number. When he called I was going to give him a piece of my mind. Just because I'd given him a piece of my pussy didn't give him the right to crash my wedding.'

Piece of my pussy? Oh yeah!! That's right!! It was time for my honeymoon!!! No more fornicating for me! Now I had a man that could cool my rampant sexual impulses day and night, night and day for however long it took for us to tire of one another.

Donnie and I planned to honeymoon in Niagara Falls. It's a five-hour drive from Detroit but, of course, we weren't going to leave town without consummating our marriage. This imperative became our prime directive. We had a room at the Renaissance Center. We planned to steam up that room before making a leisurely drive to the Falls.

As far as I knew, Donnie was a virgin. He'd grown up as one of Jehovah's Witnesses. His parents groomed him to be an elder early on. After graduating high school he'd spent four years serving at the Watchtower Society's headquarters in Brooklyn. Returning to Detroit, he'd spent another four years serving as a full time minister in the field. He and I spent a lot of time talking about the Bible. I can't remember a single conversation we had about sex. In the face of his inexperience, there was no way I was going to reveal my own fecundity with the genre.

The maitre d' at the RenCen Marriott was expecting us. He swooped down upon us as we checked in, still in full wedding regalia. He arranged to have our bags taken up to our room. Before Donnie and I went up he had a photographer follow us around. We had to re-enter the hotel because the photographer wasn't set up when we walked in. The maitre d' wanted a full accounting of our visit. He had this whole charade set up for all the newlyweds who stayed at the Marriott. I was OK with it, but I could tell that Donnie was a little irritated. He wanted some PUSSY.

The photographer followed us up to our floor to take pictures of Donnie carrying me across the threshold. When we got inside Donnie abruptly slammed the door in his face. I'd never seen him so brusque. Normally he was a kind and patient man. This was my first evidence that Donnie had an underlying temper.

Now my husband turned to me a lascivious look. First anger? And now lust? In the span of seconds I was seeing whole new facets of Brother Samuelson's personality. I wasn't complaining, mind you. Everyone is multi-dimensional. This was the first time he and I had been alone together. Anger and lust can combine to lead to a phenomenal sex life. I hoped so, anyway.

As I've said, Donnie was a virgin. After the inappropriate expression of anger and the thinly disguised expression of lust, Donnie didn't really know how to proceed. He just kinda stood there breathing heavily, like a Neanderthal. We were at a Mexican standoff.

When he finally started his approach, he came at me really slowly, you know, like in a daze, expecting my wedding dress to melt away so my tits could pop out. Or maybe he thought I could remove the straps and it would just fall to the floor. I had to explain that it didn't work like that. He had to help me unbutton, unzip and squeeze my way out of this expensive floral wedding dress. Only then could he get at the goodies underneath.

So now I'm standing before him in my garters, panties and bra. He just stood there. He still didn't know what to do next. I don't believe he'd ever seen a woman this close to being naked before. Not in the flesh, anyway. He was still wearing his tux, too. I swear, his boner was a mile wide. He seemed embarrassed to take off his clothes, as if his cock was some sort of infirmity he needed to disguise from sight. I half expected him to turn off all the lights so we could grope around in the dark.

As you might imagine, I wanted to see that dick. Eighteen hours ago I had Chad's monster cock raging back and forth in my pussy. I was still mushy down there. Women that tell you they don't compare dicks are lying. I was going to compare, but I wasn't going to denigrate my husband by way of comparison. Whatever he had rocking between his legs was going to be good enough for me.

So instead of waiting for Donnie to make a move that might be clumsy or unsmooth, I closed on him, took his mouth in mine and slipped him some tongue. He pulled back from me. When I opened my eyes, he was standing there with this stupefied look on his face.

"Where did you learn to kiss like that?" he said.

I didn't bother to answer him. It was time for Donnie to learn a thing or three.

I closed on him again and slipped him some more tongue. This time I reached down to massage his erection. Donnie jumped back like a trapped animal. The lust he'd initially shown now turned to fear. That fear, however, didn't reach down to his johnson, which created a nice tent in his pants. Donnie's eyes were shifting left to right. He was looking for the nearest exit.

Nope. I wasn't having it.

I stepped to him again. This time I knelt to face his erection. I took it in hand and rubbed it for about three seconds before his pants dampened. Donnie's head snapped backward. Both his hands were trembling. I leaned forward to clasp his softening penis between my teeth, wet spot and all. Donnie jumped back.

"What are you doing!!" he cried.

He pushed me away. I pursed my lips.

"Donnie, it's time for us to do this. ALL of this."

"We're not going to do THAT, that what you just did. Who taught you that?" he demanded.

"Donnie, yes we ARE. You should try it. You'll like it." I retorted.

Five minutes into our marriage and we were already at loggerheads.

"Will you answer my question?" he asked. "Who taught you that?"

"Donnie, I'm a convert. I didn't grow up in the Truth like you did."

"Tammy. Honey. Why are you bringing your worldly habits into our marriage? You've been baptized. Forgiven of sins. You were supposed to put all that behind you."

"Donnie, we're married now. I'm here to make you happy. I want to make you happy."

"Honey...I...I...I gotta go to the bathroom. Just...just...umm...wait right there."

He was stalling for time. I'd made him bust his nuts early and he was embarrassed. It wouldn't take him much time to recover but he didn't want me to watch him do it. When he came out of that bathroom his dick was going to be hard again. My husband was going to be ready to fuck.

I stripped my bra, panties and garters. When he came out of the bathroom I intended to be decidedly more naked than I was when he went in. I went to lie down in bed and I pointed my pussy at the bathroom door, drew up a knee and extended my arms outward like a Playboy model.

This is how dumb this nigga was: when he came out of the bathroom he still had his tux on. He went in there to pee. He sees me naked in bed and he actually looked away!!

I quelled my disdain. Donnie was a virgin. He had that long-term Jehovah's Witness outlook. I couldn't blame him for not knowing the right moves the first time out. I couldn't blame him for cumming as soon as I touched his dick. I couldn't blame him for being embarrassed about his boner. But any nigga that wanders into a room featuring a butt-ass naked woman stretched out on a bed and he looks away? That nigga is either a fool or a faggot.

I drew a deep breath.

"Donnie. Come here," I said.

He drew a deeper breath and walked over to the bed like a man condemned.

"Donnie. Take your clothes off," I said.

He looked down at his clothing. He seemed surprised to find himself fully dressed on his honeymoon night. Donnie shook his head in a self-deprecating manner. I always liked his ability to see Crazytown in some of his own cultural memes.

JWs believe that both the man and the woman should be virgins when first married. How in the fuck does that work? If both members of the couple have never had sex, they are expected to jump right into it on the first night of the marriage. In their mania to mate, they often skip over all the necessary steps leading up to sexual intercourse.

First there's holding hands and the thrill of first contact. Then there's the kiss goodnight after a date, usually a peck on the cheek. Then there's the closed mouth kiss, followed quickly by the open mouth kiss. This last is usually the longest and most satisfying portion of the sexual dance. If the open mouth kiss isn't right, it's probably not a good idea to proceed further.

But if the open mouth kiss works, the next thing is the man's hands caressing the woman's breasts--over the blouse. Then it's the man's hands on the tits under the bra. From there it's straight to genitalia fondling, both male and female, over and under the clothing. Then it's vertical genitalia grinding (clothes on), followed by horizontal genitalia grinding (clothes on). Dry humping is always nice. Then it's oral sex (usually initiated by the woman). Then it's most commonly missionary dick-in-pussy sex, although sometimes doggystyle comes first. Then it's anal sex.

After that comes the kinky stuff.

Virgins have one wedding night to work through all these progressions. Chad and I took an entire summer to work through all these and we only got as far as cunnilingus.

I wasn't going to waste an entire summer waiting for Donnie to learn his steps. By teething his penis through his pants I was skipping Donnie way past most of the grades in his sexual education. Remember, our first kiss only happened earlier that day. And it was a closed mouth kiss. I was surprised he hadn't cum right then and there.

"Underwear too, Donnie," I said.

He'd gotten down to his skivvies but seemed reluctant to go further. By now my nakedness had engendered another erection. He wasn't wearing the boxer shorts that one might expect from a twenty-seven year old man. He was wearing tightie-whities.

"Drop 'em," I said.

Donnie pulled his Fruit of the Looms down around his ankles. His erect penis arced upward.

"C'mere," I ordered in my most sultry voice.

If he'd been Malik I would have opened my legs to him. Long time lovers don't need to jump through all the progressions. Instead, I intended to walk Donnie through his paces starting with the open mouth kiss. Any man who steps back from a tongue kiss has a lot of ground to make up. If he couldn't get the open mouth kiss right, he wasn't getting any pussy, although I had an inkling that Donnie was going to shoot his rocks off no matter what I did. Virgins don't tend to have any dick control.

So Donnie crawled into bed with me. He immediately went to mount me even though I'd drawn one knee up, which is a female signal meaning "not yet". I had never slept with a virgin. My plan was to take charge of the fuck. To that end I denied Donnie's mount. Instead, I got up and rolled him over onto his back. He was breathing heavily. His dick was fully erect; it was doing his thinking. If I touched it, Donnie was going to erupt.

I mounted Donnie crossbody, tits to tits, but I left his cock untouched, preening upward from his nut sac. I framed his head in my hands so that we were face to face. I wanted him to see sincerity in my eyes. I wanted him to see my love. That eye to eye fixation is a flaming aphrodisiac. I didn't smile or smirk. I just gazed into his eyes without any trace of guile or lust. Just the feel of my tits pressing against his chest was enough to trigger his ejaculate. I needed him to be calm.

This went on for two or three minutes. The first minute was to calm his breathing. The second minute was to calm his questions about what I was doing the first minute. The third minute of staredown was to transmit my unquestioned devotion.

Then I started kissing him.

I started slowly, flickering the tip of my tongue against his lips, encouraging him to reciprocate. He tensed up. No one had told him about open mouth kissing, probably assuming that someone else had. I kissed him softly, like a woman should, and I waited for him to sense passion in my kiss. We were going to keep kissing like this, dammit, until he figured it out.

It took him a few minutes, but eventually our tongues intertwined. I slipped my tongue as far down his throat as I could. When I withdrew he reciprocated, and I sucked on his tongue as if it were a dick. When my tongue eased back into his mouth fully he sucked on her. I graded him out as a "B+". He was learning quickly.

The next move for Donnie was the tit fondle, a surreptitious move he should have mastered as a teenager. My tits were already exposed and aroused. There was no need to sneak a grope. Plus, the twins were pressed tightly against his chest. Any tit fondle would require unnecessary gymnastics. Instead, I took his hand and slowly moved it downward towards my cunt. When it arrived at the honeypot I took his middle finger and used it to twiddle my clit. I moaned soulfully as we kissed to let him know the importance of this seething little button. Several minutes of twiddle later and it was time to move further south into the wet and the heat. I let him finger me for about five minutes. I'd always loved getting fingered. I humped Donnie's fingers sensuously so that he might better understand the mechanics of our impending intercourse. Afterward I drew his fingers up to my nose. I took a big whiff, then I crossed my eyes as if the aroma of my pussy was an intoxicant unrivaled. I wanted him get a whiff, too, and so I wiped a luxuriant Filthy Sanchez pussy mustache under his nostrils. Donnie seemed astounded at my boldness. I tongue kissed him with added vehemence to drive my point home. The scent of my pussy on his top lip inflamed him, just as I'd intended.