The Wedding Night 3 Stockings

Apparently his amorous fixation on me has robbed him of all peripheral vision, for as he carries me to the bed he stumbles over our bag; yet still somehow manages to keep his feet.

I’ll say this for him; My not insignificant weight in his arms certainly isn’t hindering his catlike recovery reflexes. Still, I can’t resist a tease. “You think to gape at me and suffer no consequences? I think not!” “I can’t help it”, comes his quick reply. “Yours is a most rare and dangerous beauty!”

When I was younger, back when I still used to worry about being so tall, I had prayed for there to be a perfect man out there for me; not some dumb muscle head or womanizing sports star, but a guy with real character. Lucky me. The man who now holds me in his arms has almost more character than I know what to do with. In fact, when we first met at the gym I was suspicious, thinking along the lines that he was pretending to be all virtuous, just to get with me or something, but I knew for certain the night he asked to marry me, that he really is the perfect man of my dreams.

No one in their right mind would call my body thin, neither do I possess that supposedly perfect hourglass shape. I guess you could call me put together, just not in the typical way that turns men’s heads. Looking in the mirror, what I generally see is a pretty much gender neutral body, only my large breasts and soft face proving me as a female of the species; and yet he finds me irresistible, continually complimenting me on my figure, so when he now says – “you’re the most alluring woman I have every laid eyes on!” – I have no choice but to believe his odd compliment. “Your muscles really are the perfect compliment to your curvacious body” I roll my eyes. He thinks I’m muscular; He’s one to talk. He outweighs me by nearly fifty pounds.

Both physically and emotionally, he’s the strongest man I have ever known; yet I know that deep beneath his testosterone fueled, macho exterior, there resides more character than I ever hope to possess.

His compliments are making me blush. I just know he can see the pink in my cheeks, what with him so transfixedly watching my face. He’s so intent on watching me I’m half expecting him to trip again, preferably right down onto the bed. Instead he raises me up for a kiss, his lips brushing ever so gently against mine. From the way he tightly grasps my body, unconsciously petting the side of my left breast and thigh with the fingers of his two hands, I know of his intense desire for me.

Well, he certainly is proving his self control tonight, asking my permission before his every action; then and only then proceeding onward, at a pace that always leaves me wanting more.

“Embrace your inner damsel,” I keep trying to tell myself. “Let him do all the work. Meanwhile, just relax and feel the moment.” Oh, but trust me! When the time comes, I plan to work him out hard, every part of him; hopefully, until we’re both too tired to continue.

I release my arms from around his neck, signaling him to lower me down onto the gold and burgundy laced quilt. To say I’m eager for the kissing and heavy petting that will surely follow, would be an understatement.

“I want you on top of me.” I never have been able to resist saying whatever I’m thinking, and now is no exception. “Touch me everywhere.”

My breathy words provoke a reaction, just not the expected one. Instead of obeying the rules set down by movies, – you know the scenes, where the lovers kiss hungrily while desperately ripping off each others clothing – I yelp in shock as he practically throws me down on the soft bed, and while I’m still surprised by the unexpected drop, he moves in for the kill with that classic move I should have known was coming. Still it takes me a second to realize what he is doing, and by then he already has my legs spread wide apart; or at least as wide as my elastic dress bottom will allow.

Arms going in first, his head and shoulders quickly follow; then my hubby is planting kisses on my white stockings, until he’s kissing high on my upper thighs, where they’re bare before his lips.

Starting at my ankles, his hands work slowly up my legs, their large size enabling him to cup and massage my diamond calves at their widest point. I make sure to keep my legs straight and toes pointed, so the entirety of my legs are hard tensed beneath his appreciative grasping. Now reaching the backs of my knees, his hands continue up the underside my thighs, groping toward my backside.

Now he’s kissing first one of my inner thighs, then the other, coming ever nearer to the place guaranteed to make me to lose all semblance of self possession; his lips and nose brushing and nuzzling along the flat elastic length above my left garter. Though his face is clean shaven right now – feeling every bit as smooth and soft as my legs – I would almost prefer the prickle of several day’s stubble on him, to tickle against and further arouse my sensitive skin.

I arch my spine and sigh as his hands finish sliding up to, and now cup my bare butt; my own hands pressing the back of his head through the silky slipperiness of the dress. The sound I make is actually more of a breathy coo, and I feel more than hear the rumbling murmur of his approving chuckle.

Then he is retreating, taking my bow topped stockings with him, kissing first my left thigh as he bares new skin, sliding the stretchy material of the white stocking down to bunch over the knee, then repeating the process on my other leg. Every action he takes begins with the eager speed of haste, then slows down to the point of near torture, surely reminding himself over and over again to make every moment last. I’m already getting wet down there – at this tantalizingly slow rate of him undressing my body – my specially purchased [ http://www.fantasylingerie.com.au/p/131857/microfiber_lace_g_string.html ] wedding panties will be soaked through long before he reaches them. From the way he sucked up my slobber earlier, he surely wont mind another puddle to clean up – I just know he is looking forward to tasting me.

The image of him sucking and tonguing at my, to him, delicious panties, for a taste of what he can surely smell leaking out of my virgin slit; It turns me on like I didn’t know I could be.

Him half buried as he is within my dress, the heat of his heavy breathing causing my legs to prickle with sweat, his lingering kisses now sliding along this wetness of my skin; makes me want him to forgo all the many romantic pleasantries, and to kiss all the way up my thighs, til he reaches my sex. The thought of his lips, tongue, and teeth, orally stimulating my virginity through the thin cotton barrier of my panties… makes my arousal swell to an inferno; And the lingering quality of his lips on my right thigh, proves how closely his wants match my desires. “Come on, just do it” I think. “I want it; you want it… kiss me, up there!”

His head moves upwards, not a lot, maybe only a few inches. But could it be he’s heard my unvoiced desire? An instant before realizing my mistake, I feel a climax coming on. False alarm, I try telling my body. It won’t listen.

He’s not planning on kissing me there… yet. He’s spotted the nearly mirror image freckle patterns on my inner thighs, caused by them constantly rubbing together while I run. He must have missed them at first in the near total dark of my synthetic dress.

My resistance to the growing pleasure in my body is to little effect, especially with his continued kisses driving me ever closer to the peak of bliss. I shudder helplessly as my stomach repeatedly clenches. It’s only in a last ditch effort I trap his head between my thighs.

Before his muffled voice emanate from between my quads, he finishes peeling my stocking down over my right knee. “What, did I do something wrong? Am I being, punished’” His voice on the last word sounds so comical yet sultry, I’m tempted to laugh, but then his hands are stroking the outside of my thighs, not trying to pry my legs apart, only feeling at the tensed muscles appreciatively. He’s always so loved my strength of limb and core. Knowing him, he’s probably thrilled right now at being trapped by my, as he calls them, ‘powerful legs’.
His callused hands slide slowly over the tops of my thighs and down into the space just above his head, stroking back and forth ever so pleasantly; so that now the tingling waves of climactic urgency in my groin, are pretty much demanding I give in to the blossoming orgasm.

This sensation – his hands on my upper thighs; pinkies just inches from my privates – makes my lower back arch high up off the conforming bed.Pulsating throbs of pleasure race up my spine, crackling like electricity. Even my nipples now tingle with the wanton pleasure. I crave nothing more in the world at this moment, than to buck my hips and ride out my climax, moaning all the while.
It’s not just him who’s now responsible for my shudders of bliss — the hyper stoked nerves in my abdomen and crotch are also my own doing. What else should I have expected would happen, after spending two weeks resisting my wants; building a pulsing time bomb of repressed sexual need. Yes, it’s been fifteen days since I last used the splashing water of my bathtub to masturbate. Such a long, even self imposed deprivation of my sexuality, has raised my body’s sensitivity to that of almost superhuman eagerness, responding to my husband’s every touch.

And to think; If I’m already fighting off the most powerful orgasm in my virgin life – and all because of a few kisses to my legs – how much more mind blowing could my first climax be if I hold out longer?

I want to find a way to turn my heightened pleasure back on him, so that soon he will want nothing more than to give in, and so end up being the first one to make a mess tonight. It will be sweet revenge for my effort spent holding back from the edge of this nearly inescapable orgasm.

At long last I am able to relax, releasing his head so he can finish his removal of my stockings. But oh, how vividly my imagination continues to visualize the possibilities; how I will soon make him squirm, as he stoically resists my best efforts, not releasing even a drop of his seed as my tortures grow… And in the next second my mental fantasy warps, him upending me on the bed so it is I who is trapped beneath him. what parts on me might my husband soon be exploring!

The most favored of my imagined sexual scenes is, predictably, the one I now decide to dwell on, rather than sitting impatiently by, while waiting out his snails pace of undressing my legs.

Even as he worships my lower body beneath the constricting covers of my sleek white dress, I remember back to one of my oldest – or should I say youngest – fantasies. Tonight though this long familiar daydream seems a new and exciting prospect, what with him here to make my every sexual desire a reality; that is, if I can just work up the audacity to tell him about it. No. On second thought, I’d better not. Acting out of such a scene from my imagination wouldn’t turn out erotic at all; probably embarrassing or awkward.

All my most alluring fantasies – all half dozen of my teenage years spent in the bath, imagining out whole sequences of wedding night events – are now exposed as weak imitations to the real thing. How my self achieved sexual stimuli now seems so shallow and pallid, when compared to what his kisses can do to my body in mere seconds! I only wish I could have met my husband years sooner, for he’s just what I have always needed to fill up this craving emptiness in my heart and arms; and perhaps later tonight, my virginity.

I start in surprise at the sudden tugging of his teeth on my bared knee skin. If he is acting out some warped fantasy of being a teething puppy, perhaps my lurid fantasies will no longer seem quite so strange. Him stretching out my excess skin like that feels so odd. I can’t resist giggling a little. My amusement comes out sounding strained, my laughter only encouraging him to tug harder. Before things get out of hand, he releases hit teeth and moves on to kissing my shins, as if nothing even happened.

I go back to contemplating my ever favorite and most often used bath-time daydream. In planning out how to get such a scene accomplished here tonight, I quickly run into a big snag. The ending part of it is probably not something he will readily agree to doing, at least not while I am still a virgin… Yet how my imagination inexorably drifts, turning my plans into dreams of what I hope lies ahead for this night of passion…

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