Chapter 1

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, First, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Exhibitionism, Slow, .

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Amanda Daniels has married Patrick Greer. Otherwise, nothing else is going right.

When Amanda Daniels woke up, she thought, Oh, that's right, I'm Amanda Greer now. The thought made her inordinately happy.

Patrick was still asleep, his arm flung carelessly to one side; she remembered several elbows in the night. Around her was the paneled majesty of the bridal suite: they had curtains and a four-poster bed and even a jacuzzi. Kerri had insisted they take it; she and Winston were in a presidential suite one level down. Amanda was grateful, but she was a creature of habit; sleeping in new places was difficult for her.

The overall decorative motif for the bridal suite was white, with lace ruffles here and there and touches of both cream and pink to set it all off. The pure, untouched colorings were ironic, considering what it had been mostly used for last night. Patrick's hands had been all over her. All over her, for the first time. She still wasn't wearing anything. That had been another uncomfortable new thing to learn to live with. That, and Patrick's elbows and knees as he rolled in his sleep; and his mouth-breathing, this close to being snoring. And his arms around her in the night, his heartbeat against her back too; those were more pleasant to adapt to.

He began to stir, and she leaned down to kiss him awake. "Good morning," she said.

"Good morning," he said. It made her heart dance in her breast to hear it—she had heard the words before, from many different people, even from Patrick on occasion; but never first thing in the morning, from the mouth of her husband and love of her life. "What time is it?"

"Time to get up," she said. "Remember? We said we'd meet the Kollaths at nine for the continental breakfast, and our flight leaves at one."

"Hzmrgh," he mumbled. He rolled over and buried his face in a pillow. "Five more minutes..."

"Come on, dozy-toes," she said, kissing his shoulders, his back, his neck. "Up and at 'em." It took her a little while, but she got him on his feet, and then shoveled him in the shower while she packed up the clothes they had left strewn around the floor last night. This was her wedding dress; she wanted to keep it for the rest of her life. "Why don't you come in with me," he asked when she pushed him in the shower, but she ignored him. Shower with him? What a silly idea. She had the whole area packed up and ready to go by the time he got out, and she jumped in and showered quickly. Leaving her dark hair unbound—it would dry faster that way, and besides Patrick liked it loose—she scampered out to dress.

As she got herself decently clothed, Patrick approached. To her surprise, he wasn't wearing anything yet. "We're awake," he said, "but I haven't had a chance to say good morning to you properly." He scooped her into his arms and gave her a long, lingering kiss. He was quite a bit taller than her, but she was long used to rising up on tippy-toes to reach him, knowing that he would be there to catch her if she fell.

"Good morning, Mrs. Greer," he said, smiling.

"Good morning, Mr. Greer," she returned. "We finally made it."

"We did," he said. "There were some rough spots this week, what with flowers and all—"

"Ugh, god, don't remind me."

"—but we made it. And here we are." He reached down to kiss her again, and she let herself melt into his embrace, her arms around his neck.

"I liked what we did last night," he said, and she became suddenly aware of his manhood bumping against her belly. Now his nudity made sense.

"Baby, I love you, but, we don't have time," she said. "We have to be downstairs in ten minutes."

"They can wait," he said, his voice husky. Their foreheads were together and his eyes were inches from her own.

"Honey, I don't want to be late," she said. "That's not a good way to start off our marriage. Besides, we'll have time tonight ... And every night for the rest of our lives."

He gave a sigh. "All right. But I'm holding you to that, darling." His hand drifted lower, squeezed her rear gently. "I want you."

She smiled. "And I you."

As he bent next to her to dig clothing out of his bag, she allowed herself to look over his body—tall (over six feet), well-muscled, with a firm behind, a narrow waist leading up to broad shoulders. He had been in the Marines. She wished she could feel desire for him, but she didn't know how. She knew he had been looking forward to the consummation. If only she could've said the same.

Kerri and Winston were already waiting down in the lobby for them. Amanda greeted them with smiles and kisses—after all, they were practically family. "Good morning, Mrs. Kollath."

Kerri laughed. "Who? What? Winnie's mom is here? Where?"

Kerri and Amanda had been flung together by the random chance of freshman roommate assignments. Now Amanda thought of Kerri as less a best friend and more a sister. When both of them became engaged within a month of each other, it was Kerri's idea to have a joint wedding, but Amanda liked it, and both their fiancés were amenable. Patrick and Winston had never been quite as close, but they were friends and got along fine.

"Well, come on then, Mrs. Greer," Kerri chirped, grabbing both Amanda and Winston by the hand; Amanda caught Patrick with her free hand, tugging him along. "Breakfast awaits, and then the honeymoon! A week's worth of tropical paradise with nothing to hold us back!" Kerri was a small, neat blonde with a pixie haircut and bubbly, effervescent personality; she had a way of making Amanda feel middle-aged by comparison. Patrick had never once complained, but she had a hunch that he might've traded her body's for Kerri if the option had existed; Kerri had the slim, practically anorexic look that was so in fashion today, while Amanda had to fight the fat and her raven hair to look attractive.

Patrick and Winston could not have been more different either. Winston was not nearly as tall and had a sloppy, unshaven rock-star look to him. He wore glasses, and corduroys and collared shirts, but she knew Patrick could never have done that sort of look; she was still fighting him to grow his hair out past five centimeters. She liked having male hair to play with, something Winston had in abundance.

"So, how was your evening?" Kerri asked with a playful grin.

Amanda glanced at Patrick. "It was lovely," she said, self-conscious. "We went upstairs and, umm, made ourselves comfortable ... And then we went to sleep." That was about as close as she was going to get to admitting in public that she and her husband had had sex last night.

Kerri had no such compunctions. "Oh, 'made yourselves comfortable, ' is that what they're calling it nowadays?" She giggled. "Winston and I just had sex. You know, same old same old. Didn't need any new names for it."

Amanda could feel her face redden. To deter the inevitable question, she said, "How was it? Any good?" On the list of things she would rather not discuss over breakfast, Winston and Kerri's sex life was near the top of the list—just under the topic of her sex life with Patrick.

"Oh, girl, you would not believe!" said Kerri. "He made me climax so hard my toes are still curled! People probably heard me down the hall!" She giggled again.

Amanda nodded and smiled and tried to look knowledgeable. Kerri spoke often of this mythical 'climax' thing, which evidently was the most awesome thing since sliced bread. Amanda had no idea personally what it was, since Kerri just took it for granted. The best thing Amanda could do, as far as she could tell, was just play along.

One of the reasons Amanda valued her friend so much was that Kerri had so many different opinions from her. Sex was one of them. Amanda was a devout Christian who had decided to wait until marriage; Patrick, who had lost his virginity in the Marines, had the patience to wait. But Kerri and Winston had been doing it practically since day one, much to Patrick's envy. The way they talked about it was a complete mystery to Amanda. Wasn't it true that sex was a dirty, sinful thing, and should only be engaged in to strengthen the bonds of marriage, and in the hope of children? Personally, Amanda didn't understand how Patrick putting his thingie into her whathaveyou had 'strengthened' their marriage—he had gasped and made faces and strained as if something were painful, while she had wondered what was going on. But Patrick had liked it, since he wanted to do it again. She knew there was more going on here than she was aware of; that wasn't news. But she wished she knew what.

They ate while they chattered about the vacation ahead; fortunately, Kerri seemed to have satisfied her need to discuss the details of her and Winston's intimate life. And before long, they were handing over their luggage at the airport, and the plane was leaping into the sky. Amanda had never flown before, and Kerri willingly passed up the window seat to her.

The seating arrangements were a moment of tension; they had booked two rows of two, but Kerri requested that she be allowed to sit with Amanda. "I know you just got your hands on her, Patrick, but you'll have that for the rest of your life. Right now we've got girl talk to get done. And wouldn't you rather us do that now, then later when we're on the ground?" Patrick relented with good grace, laughing when Winston pointed out that they could likewise have 'guy talk, ' and so when Amanda flew for the first time in her life, it was with her sister at her side, not her husband.

"So," Kerri said, setting her cocktail glass down on the unfolded tray table and turning to face her. "How was it?"

Amanda feigned ignorance, hoping she'd be deterred. "How was what?"

"You know, silly!" Kerri dropped her voice as low as it could get (not very) and put on an expression of mock solemnity. "The consummation."

Amanda stifled a sigh. If it had to happen, let it happen quickly. "Oh, it was ... It was fine. Very pleasant." She took a sip of her Coke to avoid looking at Kerri's scandalized expression.

"'Very pleasant'? Your consummation, your de-virginalization, the first sex of your life and all you can say is that it was 'very pleasant'?"

"Well, what's to say?" Amanda said. "We kissed, he put his hands on my body, he put his thing in me, and that was that."

Kerri's expression was something to behold. For a moment she debated turning to Patrick and asking for the camera.

"Girl, I know you were a virgin, but he wasn't. And besides, It's your husband. Come on. You're making love to the man of your life. Didn't you feel more than that?"

Amanda shrugged.

"God, at least say he made you cum."

The terminology escaped her. " ... Made me what?"

"Made you orgasm."

Amanda blinked at her.

"Climax? Made you climax?"

"Umm ... Yeah," Amanda lied, grasping at straws. "Yeah, it was ... great."

"Amanda, you don't even know what that word means, do you." It wasn't a question.

Amanda sighed. "Look, I'm not ... Kerri, I'm not like you, okay? You're all ... You and Winston have sex, a lot, and I know that. That's just not who I am."

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean it's okay to not enjoy it," Kerri said.

"I ... I did enjoy it," Amanda protested.

Kerri arched an eyebrow.

"Look, can we drop it, okay?" Amanda said. "This isn't important."

"Yes it is," Kerri said, and to Amanda's surprise her voice was not angry. It was sad. "Hon, it is important that you enjoy sex. It's one of the most miraculous things you'll ever do with your husband, and one of the most intimate. You'll see parts of him and learn things about him that nobody else ever will. You'll get to do things to him that are incredibly special, and have incredibly special things done to you in return. To speak your language, it's part of what God wants you to share with your husband. And you plan to tell me that it's not important that you share it?"

"Okay, fine," Amanda said, to get Kerri off her case. "How do I enjoy it."

She was surprised when Kerri entered a thoughtful silence. She chewed on the straw of her cocktail before handing the drink to Amanda and standing up to look over the back of the airline chair. "Pat, honey?"

"Yes, Kerri?"

"Does Amanda masturbate?"

Amanda felt her jaw drop. To just ask that, so brazenly—and of her husband! Surely Patrick would have the sense to not answer. But no, his voice came back quickly, even over the rushing din of the air flowing by outside. "No, not to my knowledge."

"To your knowledge, has she ever climaxed?"

"Not to my knowledge, no."

"All right. Thanks, handsome." That was Kerri's way—to flirt with, well, just about everybody. She settled back into her seat again and regarded Amanda with a mixture of speculation and pity.

Amanda felt a twinge of worry in her gut. "Do you really think this is important, Ker?"

"Yeah, Mandy, I do," Kerri said. "To your happiness and to your marriage."

Amanda sighed. "Well ... Then, tell me. Tell me what to do."

"What do you think I'm trying to figure out," Kerri said with a hint of a smile. "A crash course on human sexuality. Not an easy subject. Did your parents ever talk to you about it? I mean, I bet you got the birds-and-the-bees thing."

"Yeah."

"And, if not, you'd know about it by now, since it just went on in your body last night."

Oh, that aspect of the birds and the bees. "Right." She'd have preferred to ignore that part.

"What did your parents say when they caught you masturbating?" Kerri asked.

Amanda shrugged. "They never did."

"Wait, so, you were good at sneaking about it?" said Kerri. "But if that's true, then how come ... Oh. Right. You just didn't, at all. Ho boy. All right, umm ... Did they have anything to say to you about sex in the context of marriage? I mean, obviously they told you not to have it until you got married."

Amanda nodded.

"Did they say anything about becoming sexual?"

"What?"

"I mean, like, they discouraged masturbation, right?"

"Well ... Yeah. It's right there in the Bible, the sin of Onan."

"And yet they said that you're supposed to enjoy sex with your husband?"

"Well ... Yeah. I mean, they said I should find it pleasurable and to talk with our pastor if I didn't."

Kerri ejected a snort. "Typical Christian hypocrisy!"

"Hey!" said Amanda, who was proud to be Christian.

"Discouraging you from having a healthy sex life and then criticizing you for not doing it anyway. Boy, these wise people."

"Kerri, what on earth are you saying? Are you saying that, to enjoy sex, I have to masturbate? That's ... That's a silly thought."

"Why?" said Kerri. "The female sexual response can be difficult to engage. It needs practice."

"So what?" said Amanda. "Patrick and I will practice. Besides, we did it last night; it's not like it didn't work."

"Mandy, just because it worked doesn't mean you have a healthy sex life. That just means your sex life exists."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Oh, so, you can't imagine it getting any better, can you? You look forward to doing that every day with Patrick for the rest of your life, do you?"

The second remark hit a little too close to home. Unfortunately, it was also dead on. "No, Kerri. I can't imagine it getting any better. How could I? I have zero experience with all this. That's what you're stumbling over, isn't it?"

"It is," Kerri sighed. "And, no, I don't know what to do. You remember the rules of math: one is infinitely larger than zero. And the first step is the same. But, sweetie, it can be better. It can be so much better."

Amanda couldn't deny that better sex would make the whole thing palatable. But she did have her pride. Besides, all of this seemed like a lot of trouble. This whole masturbation thing—silly. Why bother? Sex was something she had lived without for almost thirty years, and she didn't feel like there had been any reduction in her quality of life because of its absence. How could anyone claim that adding it would cause things to get worse? Clearly, that would be untrue. Things would work themselves out—tonight, even!—and she wouldn't have to lift a finger about it.

Of course, that theory was put to the test within twelve hours.

They had landed at the airport and retrieved their luggage; they had taken an airport van to the hotel, a gorgeous resort in scroll-worked stone and classic pillars. They had checked into their shared suite, and spent the afternoon and evening exploring the resort itself—swimming pools in lagoon shapes connected by waterfalls; tropical birds flapping in and out amongst the open architecture; too many dining establishments and styles of cuisine to choose from; an infinity of white sand and a beach teeming with life, both aquatic and sapient. But now the exploration was over, the evening meal had been consumed, and it was time to retreat back to their rooms for more private pursuits. Amanda had been married for 27 hours.

The door had barely closed behind them that Patrick was moving in on her. He scooped her into his arms and kissed her repeatedly: "I—have been—waiting for this—all day."

"Have you nmmfff. Have you now."

He kept kissing her. "On the plane—when Winston and I were talking—he gave me—all sorts of ideas—to do to you."

"Is that snnmmmff. Is that so." Inwardly she stifled a sigh of despair. Was she the only person in this suite who wasn't thinking about sex 24/7?

"Yes." His kisses were becoming longer as he drew her further into the circle of his arms, their bodies beginning to meld together. "And now ... I get to try ... Some of them out."

"Well..." She interposed a finger between her lips and his, so that her next line could have its full impact: "I'm yours, to do with what you will."

The smile he gave made his eyes seem to smolder. "Hmm. Just what I was hoping to hear."

For a little while they just kissed, lip on lip, arm in arm, and she counseled herself to relax. This was something she knew. She remembered their first kiss, at the end of their first date, and how she had pressed herself against the door after it closed, a delighted smile on her face, looking forward to the day when she could kiss him again. He was so tall, so broad of shoulder, but she never felt an urge to cower before him; he was like a shelter, a broad-branched tree, for her to nestle herself against and be protected.

To her surprise, he started below. His hand had been roaming up and down her body, but now one of them insinuated itself underneath her skirt, cupping one of her buttocks. The skirt was elastic; in a moment it was sliding down her legs. Hadn't he always paid more attention to her breasts while they were dating? But then again, she'd been wearing the white tennis skirt he'd always said made her look perfect; perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised.

Next to go was her shirt, the open-collared one in the forest green; she knew he liked it because of the way it accented her breasts when he looked down at her from the side. Finally, he reached around and let loose her hair, tossing the clip off to one side. Now she had nothing on except her bra and panties, while he was still fully clothed. Smiling, she turned the tables by doing the same to him—running her hands and her nails over his skin, tracing the lines of his muscles and ribs. He didn't keep himself in quite as fantastic shape as he had when she first met him, fresh off his final tour of duty, but there was still a lot there to be found. Then, teasingly, she unbuttoned his shorts and let them drop, running her hands down the front of his legs; he was wearing some slick polyester-type material for boxers. Stepping close to kiss him, she smelled male sweat and warm flesh.

Now he dropped to his knees in front of her, kissing her stomach, trailing his way down. It was ticklish, but good at the same time; she had always enjoyed playing with his body, his back and shoulders and the pliant flesh of his large hands. And she liked it when he did the same to her. It lit a tingling feeling inside her, an almost sinful level of relaxation, and comfort too—comfort in the hands of her man, knowing that nothing could ever hurt her while he watched over her.

It was when he started kissing her underwear that she started to giggle a little.

"What?" he said.

"Well ... Why are you doing that? It's just cotton, it can't taste very good. And it's not a body part on me, so I don't feel anything."

"Well, it was an idea," he said. "We're supposed to experiment with each other, you know."

She giggled again. "Well, you can cross that one off the list."

He started kissing her tummy again, making her wonder if there was something about that area she should know about. This time, though, he began by stripping off her panties entire; now she was bare except for her bra. He let his kisses follow the contours of her body, down the curve of her hips and then down the crease leading inwards to her private area. Instead of going there, though, he made a detour down her left thigh, planting tickly kisses all over it. Then he moved to her other leg.

She watched his wanderings with growing amusement. It felt pleasant, sure, but... "Is this supposed to be going somewhere?"

"Well, with any luck, it's supposed to get you hot," he said. He gave her a smile, but she could sense his impatience.

"Maybe you should do what you did yesterday," she said. "That seemed to work."

He shrugged as he came to his feet. "I guess." Then, without warning, he scooped her up and carried to the bed. She gave a yelp of protest, but almost before she could react, he had plonked her down.

"Patrick! Unless you want your wife and the mother of your children to die of a heart attack long before any of that ever happens, you should warn me before you do that!"

He gave another casual shrug. "I just picked you up. You should learn to relax more, Amanda."

When I'm being manhandled by this giant ape of a husband of mine? she thought, but she kept it to herself.

He reclined on the bed next to her, and then reached to pull her lips down to his. She submerged her irritation. Relax, he'd said. Fine, she'd try to relax. She heard the whoosh of the sea outside, barely audible through the closed windows, and the hum of the air conditioner; she felt the scratchy cotton of the bedspread under her elbow, the heat of Patrick's hand in the small of her back. Her breasts were at an angle, a little bit uncomfortable in their bra.

He must have noticed, because his hand moved higher; and just like that, she was naked, her breasts now hanging free. She stifled an urge to cover them with a hand. That was an appropriate response to just about anyone else in the world ... But before her was the one man to whom she should make an exception. She wondered what he thought about them. They were heavy and large—one upside to weighing as much as she did—but she thought they were too veiny, the skin too translucent. Surely he must prefer ... What else could breasts be like? She didn't know, but surely he must prefer them.

Last night he had started with her breasts, and she knew he would move there eventually. She didn't know how to think of the feeling—a deep pulling sensation that seemed to go all the way down inside her, as though her breast was searching for milk for him. Would it be like that when a child suckled there eventually?—a child, hers and Patrick's, born out of union of sperm and egg and grown in her womb from his seed. She wanted one someday, and knew he did too. But they'd never get there if they couldn't figure this out first.

He laid her down to her back on the bed, leaning over her, kissing his way around her breast. Then he switched to the other one and repeated the same treatment—kisses, speckling the surface of her breast (now flattened by the tyranny of gravity), before laying one perfect kiss on her nipple, followed by his lips closing around it to suck in earnest. She felt again the deep pulling sensation, a little pleasurable, a little painful. She wondered what other women's nipples were like; hers seemed small to her.

"Just relax," he said to her.

"I am relaxing," she said, giving him a cheery smile. And it was true. She was relaxing, or at least trying to as best she could; it wasn't her fault that all these other things were whizzing through her head.

He gave a noise of skeptical assent, but he didn't stop.

Eventually he tired of her breasts and began to kiss his way down her stomach again. This time he did not detour around to her legs; this time he went straight between them, and for the first time she felt the sensation of his lips on her lips. They felt a little cold and fishy; even his breath, warm against the soft skin of her privates, grew cool where he had kissed. She felt his lips wandering, and then (of all things) his hands reaching up to the insides of her hips, to pull her private parts open (she spread her legs obligingly to give him room). Then she felt kisses—gentle ones, like the wings of a butterfly, more gentle than she'd thought possible—sprinkled across the terrain of her privates. It was ticklish there, but also—and there was no other way to describe it—red, in a strange uncomfortable way; it made her wiggle on the bed, made her feel like the skin of her hips had shifted like a pair of pants. It was a strange feeling, and she wasn't sure she liked it.

He looked up at her. "You're not relaxing."

"What makes you say that?" she said.

"Because something should be happening by now."

"Oh? What?"

Patrick covered his face with a hand.

"Patrick, what should be happening?"

He let his hand fall away. "Does it feel anything when I do this to you? Do you feel anything?"

"Well, yes," she said, "I feel you sucking on my nipple."

"Is there anything else?" he said.

"Umm..." She cast back through the last thirty hours—her entire life's experience with sex. "No, not particularly."

"Not last night either."

"No, umm ... Well, when you put it in me, there was feeling. It was ... Interesting."

Patrick's eyes screwed shut. " 'Interesting'."

"Honey, what's wrong?" she said, sitting up. (Unnoticed, her arm covered her breasts.)

"I..." He sighed. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Come on, baby, let's go to bed."

"But I thought ... I thought we were going to have sex."

"Well, I hoped so too," he grumbled, "but if you're not..."

"Honey, this is what it was like yesterday," she said, reaching out to stroke his cheek with a hand. "We did it yesterday. I don't see any reason why we can't ... Why you can't just go ahead and ... I mean, we did it yesterday."

He made a grimace. "Maybe we did yesterday, but today it... I couldn't. Not today. Not knowing that..." He sighed. "I mean, look at me, I'm not even hard right now."

She looked and saw that it was true. That was troubling. When they dated, when they kissed ... His erection had become so ubiquitous during those times that she'd almost stopped noticing it. For him to be so disenchanted now...

"Look, just ... I'll talk to Winston tomorrow, and you talk to Kerri. Okay?"

"Okay," she said, feeling frightened. She'd had no idea that his happiness was so bound up in something she herself could not control. "I'll..." Needing to say something, needing to give him something more: "Anything for you."

He gave a wan smile at that.

"I love you," she said.

"I know," he said. "And I love you too."

"If you love me," she said, "and if I love you, then I don't ... Love is all you need for sex, isn't it?"

"Maybe in the fairy tales," he said, and kissed her again.

Because of the church's rules on cohabitation, they had never slept in the same bed during their courtship. It was something she knew she would enjoy—hearing his breathing in the dark, being able to look over and see him when she woke up. And it was comforting to be there, his arms wrapped around her, the warm lub-dub of his heart against her back. But it was a long time before she could sleep that night.

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