Marriage is, of course, a ceremony and institution of compromise. The best thing being, naturally, to get all the compromising out of the way well before the ceremony occurs to become the institution. The circumstances vary from couple to couple--that goes without saying. Some guys have to give up their Friday night out-with-the-buddies bowling league. Or shift it to a Tuesday. Me, I had to forswear pussy-eating for the rest of my natural born life.
The first few times Ariel and I got all-limbs-akimbo intimate, I of course found my face parked between her thighs. What would the world be without lovely wet cunts to lick? A fucking desert, I tell you. The outlawing of dessert.
These instances, Ariel had the expected earthquakes, but when I'd draw myself up afterwards to madly kiss her face I'd find her weeping. Her tears were not of ecstasy, and I could never get anything out of her except that she had some sort of secret.
Well, what was I going to do about it? Pry? Because of course married people never kept secrets from one another: load of horseshit, that one. There are just some things that are better kept secret. Like, say you sucked off a dog for a dare and a dollar in the third grade. As if the lovely wife needs to know about that one!
I didn't even try to fathom Ariel's secret. I mean, it didn't make sense. Even if say a nasty old uncle had given her a good pussy-licking when she was a girl, what's to cry about? I mean geez--supposing some nasty old uncle had given me a headjob as a kid--I mean close your eyes and enjoy, boy. A warm mouth sucking on your hard cock, there's only one end to that road, and the tears to that are magnificent joy.
Though maybe he licked her raw and she never got over the edge. That'd be something to cry about.
But she didn't have an uncle. Even her dad had died when she was an infant.
All she had that I knew about was a mother and her older sister Sylvia, who still lived, independently, back home for her.
Ariel and I met in college on the east coast. I was a native, trying to supplement my income by taking courses. She was in from the hinterlands on a scholarship. We hit it off like gangbusters. I wooed her into being my wife even though she didn't want her pussy licked.
Because, man, Ariel had a way of holding me inside her while swiveling her hips such that I could answer only yes to any request she might have. That's how we wound up owning a dog I didn't want. A dog with an identity crisis--it seemed to think it was a human leg, judging by its procreative tendencies.
The few post-graduate years we lived in the city, I knew Ariel was somehow unhappy, and I never made a discouraging noise when she felt obliged to fly down and see her family every few months. I didn't go, and I never presumed to tell her no. Soon after we returned from her mother's funeral Ariel began expressing displeasure at living in the city. And when she finally began making noises about being home-sick, there was no question of divorce. Though I really didn't want to leave the city, there was no way I wouldn't follow her bouncing ass, no matter where it might lead me.
We moved to her hometown so that Ariel could be close to sister. How could I help but not cheer when I discovered that for less than we'd been renting, we could pay mortgage on an older frame box of a house. Four small rooms and a kitchen and a bath, plus a half-story upstairs that was finished enough for a guest room. I was happy to see Ariel so happy. And happy myself that though the house had enormous potential, it existed well enough as it was that we could just sit back and enjoy owning it without having to commit to any immediate major work.
And it was extremely pleasant to suddenly be spending so much time with Sylvia. They came from the same stock. I found myself hanging out in rooms with _two_ intelligent, interesting, and beautiful women. A pair of them. Though they were obviously related in the faces, Sylvia--the big sister--was a good four or five inches shorter than Ariel. They shared the same straight, thick auburn hair, though Ariel wore hers shorter, hanging just to her shoulders. Ariel had bigger breasts while Sylvia had the more shapely ass.
Not that that suggested either was deplete or excessive in either department. Nor that such qualifications of womanly shapes entered into my thoughts. I was just sitting at a kitchen table, laughing my head off at the conversation the two of them kept maintaining, entertaining idle fantasies about the both of them, separately _and_ together. Most of such speculation was of course like a Civil War re-enactor approaching a show: no chance that I'd ever really get to participate in the Battle of Bull Run.
We hadn't been there but six months before Sylvia's apartment complex seemed to go into a nose-dive. She stayed with us a few days while the whole place was hosed down for rats and roaches. Her visit went fine, though it did emphasize that the house was built, on an intimate scale, for a family of two. The dog... at least if it got too randy you could always banish it to the fenced-in back yard.
It was barely three weeks later that Sylvia was back at our door, after the requisite phone call. A gas leak had emptied her building at least overnight.
I found it funny to watch. The two of them instantly mobilized. It was as though they were girls again, getting to stay up late because something quirky had happened to close the schools for the following day.
But I was restless that night for reasons I couldn't discover. Ariel and Sylvia filled the evening microwaving popcorn and watching some movies on t.v. They kept trying to entice me to join them, patting the space on the sofa between them; instead I just sort of roamed the house. The dog kept following me like a shadow of worry, colliding into my shins at every turn, with each step I took happily maneuvering one or the other of my legs between its hindquarters. Finally I had to trick him into going out in the back yard.
The rest of the night was no better. With Ariel fast asleep beside me I lay tossing and turning in the dark, the red digits of the bedside clock taunting me with the ever-growing lateness of the hour. The cause wasn't helped by the creaking of the floorboards above as Sylvia, the original nighthawk, puttered around overhead. The groan of the steps as she came down to the kitchen then went back up; as she came down to use the bathroom then went back up; as she came down for whatever other reasons and kept going back up. Eventually I couldn't even keep track of whether she was upstairs or down.
Finally I tried thinking of pleasant thoughts to help me slip into sleep. But in the otherwise quiet dark the sounds of Sylvia's nocturnal wanderings kept being the point of reference. Sylvia: what she might be wearing, what she would look like wearing nothing at all; what it would be like to be graced by Sylvia wearing nothing at all. Good lord! I idly began fantasizing about being the boy-next-door watching those two sisters growing up. Talk about a wet-dream every night of the week!
By that point the fabric of my boxers was straining to hold in a monstrous erection. The damn thing was quivering and lurching; every shift of the cloth across the head left me whimpering. No chance of sleep in this state. The immediate association was naturally to wonder what Sylvia would do as she nestled into her bed. Would a shy hand slip a sly finger down between her thighs?
This was nonsense, of course. Upstairs or down, all Sylvia would be thinking of was how in the morning she'd be able to get back into her apartment and resume her real life. Not that my cock was persuaded.
I was distracted then by Ariel. She shifted in her sleep and her breath began coming in ragged little bursts, punctuated by sighs and throaty little mewlings. She shunted a leg over; the press of her bare thigh against mine nearly made me jump out of my shorts.
Very cautiously I rolled over onto my side, facing Ariel. My movement incited more from her, her leg pressing ever firmer against me. The pressure though was now fully on my erection. I let my hand come to rest innocently on her upper thigh. Quickly, though, and not so innocently, it began to creep upwards. I ascertained almost immediately that her nightgown had ridden up to her waist. And then my fingers found the decided dampness to her mons. Some rather sweet dream going on! I traced a finger along the line of her labia. Ariel gave a groan to shake the rafters and her legs flared fully wide. Her cunt blossomed beneath my touch, and with just the slightest touch my finger pushed inside. Jesus but she was juicy! I moved my thoroughly wet finger a little upwards, finding her little bud stiff with excitement. Just the one touch and her hips jumped as if from a jolt of current. I retreated for a moment, not wanting to wake her. If I disturbed her too much she might brush my hand aside and roll over away from me. And it suddenly seemed certain in my mind that if I could just help Ariel's erotic interlude end in a dreamy orgasm, well, that would be so arousing I'd probably just shoot off in my shorts. And then, maybe then, I could finally get some rest.
But I'd just started stroking her again when her hand seized my wrist and lifted it away. So much for _that_ remedy, I thought, but then to my utter surprise Ariel pulled my arm across her instead of pushing it away. She let go, her hand coming to grab my shoulder, rolling me between her legs.
.... There is more of this story ...