Chapter 2

It’s my wedding day. The ink is drying on the proper lines, and the seals are embossed on the documents, so I’m legally a Mrs. now. It’s a little bizarre and surreal. I’m fourteen and married, and tonight I get to legally make love to my husband and best friend. After our honeymoon, I have to be back in school. I’ll undoubtedly be the topic of most of the gossip at school. I’m hoping no one gives Randy a bad time about having a fourteen-year-old wife.

The principal knows about our wedding, and I’ll be officially transferred out of Mr. Turner’s class, because now I’m Mrs. Turner!

Randy is so cool sometimes. We are having a reception at his parent’s place. I hesitate to say it, but it’s an estate, and the house is a mansion. Randy’s dad is even richer than Randy, but in the early days, he was connected with all the people in the music business, especially the stadium tours. Guess who one of the people he’s kept in touch with is?

Keith (fucking) Richards! Guess who is playing for our fist dance? The Rolling (fucking) Stones! And of course the song for our first dance is going to be, “Miss Amanda Jones.”

I always thought I was different from the kids at school who just like a song because it’s popular. I just realized I’ve embraced this song as my personal theme song, and when I really listen to the words, I don’t much like the little social climber or gold digger in the song. I hope Randy and his family don’t think of me that way. But I’ve got this killer white lace mini-dress that I’m going to wear at the reception, and I’m gonna dance round and round and round, like a crazy lady. I don’t think Randy will let me have more than a taste of Champagne, or I might act like the girl in the song.

We are at the party. Randy looks so handsome in his Armani tuxedo. I get this rubbery kneed feeling every time I look up at his handsome face. That whole, “he’s almost two feet taller than me,” thing makes me want to just be a soft little female and have him hard and male and on top of me, filling me, and loving me forever and ever.

I’ve got my white lace mini on, and I’m hot as can be. I’m thinking of getting Randy to sneak off with me to a closet or something. I’m dripping, thinking of what it’s going to be like to have a grown man inside me tonight, and feel full and stretched for the first time. I want it SO much! I’m thinking of taking my panties off and making sure Randy knows what’s on my mind. Once we start making love, I don’t think I’ll ever want to stop. It may be a good thing he’s rich, because I might keep him in bed for the rest of our lives.

The Rolling Stones are on the stage out on the terrace. Randy and I are in the middle of the dance floor. Keith Richards says Randy’s dad is the only honest guy who was ever in the music business, and a fun bloke on top of that. He wishes Randy and me happiness and good luck in our marriage. Then he steps back, the band does the intro, and then Mick is singing, and I’m dancing.

Miss Amanda Jones by The Rolling Stones

Down and down she goes
Our Amanda Jones
I said down and down and down and down
She’d look really lovely at home
‘Til somebody going to come up and ask her
To live happily ever after, Miss Amanda Jones

[Verse 2]
On and on she goes
Little Miss Amanda Jones
I said on and on and on and on
Just watch her as she grows
Don’t want to say it very obviously
But she’s losing her nobility, Miss Amanda Jones

[Chorus]
Hey girl, don’t you realize
The money invested in you?
Hey girl, you’ve just got to find
Someone who’ll really pull your family through

[Verse 3]
Up and up she goes
Our Amanda Jones
I said up and up and up and up
She looks quite delightfully stoned
She’s the darling of the discotheque crowd
Of her lineage she’s rightfully proud, Miss Amanda Jones

[Chorus]
Hey girl, with your nonsense nose
Pointing right down at the floor
Hey girl, your suspender shows
And the girl behind you looks a bit unsure

[Verse 4]
Round and round she goes
The world of Amanda Jones
I said round and round and round and round
The balls and the dinners and shows
The little girl, she just wanders about
‘Til it’s time for her coming out, Miss Amanda Jones

I wish I could explain everything I thought while I was dancing. I thought about the meaning of the lyrics for pretty much the first time. A lot of it is specific to the social system in England, where beautiful or “fun” girls were trading their looks and sexual favors for social standing and a wealthy husband, or girls with noble but poor families were trading their patents of nobility for a wealthy husband to save their family from poverty.

At the same time, I thought about how hot for Randy I felt at the moment and all the sexy things I want to do with him tonight.

It turns out I don’t have much in common with the girl in the song, but it sure is a great sounding song, and I loved dancing to it. I guess Randy’s dad knowing a member of the band kind of is a parallel.

I guess it’s a good thing Randy didn’t let me get drunk. I danced pretty wildly anyway, and I’m sure I flashed my white lace panties at just about everybody. He did some lifts and things from the old-style jive dancing from the 1950s that we’d practiced, getting ready for the wedding. When he twirled me around and stuff, I’m sure my skirt didn’t keep my ass covered. I’m glad I wore hip hugger style panties and not a thong! The panties were new, bought just for the wedding, so they were white as the driven snow, and the damp spot on the panty gusset really didn’t show. (much)

The party is over, the guests are gone, and Randy and I are changing into sailing clothes. We are going to spend our honeymoon on “Quark Quark” and maybe sail down to Cabo, although my being a minor takes away some of the incentive to go to a party town. Maybe we’ll just anchor in some deserted bay and fuck the whole time.

It’s my wedding night, and we are, in fact, anchored in a deserted bay. I’m wearing a white satin chemise that barely covers my naked bottom. The top hugs my breasts and makes them look bigger. My nipples are hard, and sticking out like sharp points, almost like I was wearing a bullet bra from the 1950s.

“You take my breath away every time I see you, with or without clothes, although I’m partial to you naked,” Randy says.

“I kind of have this planned, so just go with it, please,” I tell him.

He grins, because he knows how I think.

I launch myself at him and wrap myself around him, arms around his neck, legs around his waist. I kiss him like I want to rape him. He kisses back, and I’m in heaven.

Randy is six feet, three inches tall, and very strong, I’m four feet six inches tall, and I weigh seventy pounds, so he can do all the romantic stuff in the trashy romance novels I used to read. He carries me to the bed and I unwrap so he can put me down. He goes down on me and makes me cum, but I don’t want him to enter me until I’ve sucked him off, so I push him away, put him on his back, climb on top of him so my pussy is over his mouth, and then I swallow his dick. I’ve been practicing on a dildo Mrs. Connors bought me for pre-wedding training. I get most of him in my mouth and take the fat head of his dick down my throat without gagging. I must have done it right because his cock swells and he shoots down my throat, right into my stomach. I like the hot feeling of his cum going down my throat and into my tummy.

I suck his cock clean and I move around to cuddle with my husband. It doesn’t take very long for him to get hard again. He puts me on my back and lines up his cockhead with my hole. He presses into me, firmly, but slowly, so my muscles have time to stretch. Oh my god this feels good. His dick is bigger and my pussy tighter than I’d expected. It takes a while for my muscles to surrender, and then the fat head pops inside me. I scream and cum. Randy grins at me. I’ve found nirvana. He slowly pushes his cock deeper into me, and I’m lifted to a higher level of heaven.

My hips come alive and start squirming under my husband as he fills me, trying to get more of him inside my pussy. I’m so wet, there is hardly any friction, but his cock is so thick, and I’m so tight, it takes time to work his heavy artillery inside my tiny tunnel. I am overwhelmed by his self-control, working his thick sword into my velvet sheath slowly, so I enjoy every millimeter as he enters me.

“I love you Randy. I’m going to love having you for my husband, every second of our lives,” I whisper.

Randy said, “You know the reason I never married was that I hadn’t met you. Amanda, you are the perfect woman for me, and the perfect wife.”

“You can call me Mandy when we make love. I’ll be Mandy, your hot little teenage slut wife when you fuck my brains out husband,” I told him.

“How do you do that? You are so damn sexy without even trying. It will be my pleasure to fuck your brains out any time you want, Mandy,” Randy said.

I had known it would happen, but I got hot all over when he called me Mandy, and I had an incredible orgasm. Everything in my pelvis relaxed, and Randy’s big cock slid all the way inside me. When the head of his dick kissed my cervix, I went wild and started fucking him like I was possessed. He caught my fever and began slamming his cock into me hard and fast. I was cumming so hard I was clawing his back, writhing under him, moaning and screaming with the raw pleasure exploding in all of my nerves and making my brain feel like it was the epicenter of a thermo-nuclear detonation. All I was aware of was blinding white light. I felt like my orgasms were so intense, they might erase all my memories and leave me a twitching female body that only felt alive when I was being fucked.

My plan was working perfectly. Because I sucked him off first, Randy fucked me for a long, long time before he shot off again and this time bathed my cervix in hot cream.

“Oh Randy your cum is so hot. I love the way it burns inside me. Fuck your little teenage wife forever!” I cried out as I came yet again. My hunky husband had just fucked me to the seventh level of heaven.

Randy collapsed on top of me. I loved the feel of his big, strong body crushing me into the bed. We both passed out from the intensity of the first time my husband penetrated my pussy and filled me to overflowing with his big cock.

I felt the way a person described being in a coma. I could feel Randy crushing my body, his cock slowly deflating, but still inside me, and yet my brain was quiet, almost paralyzed. I just felt loved and satisfied in a way I’d never been before. My pussy was happily hugging my husband’s cock and begging it to stay inside my body for the rest of eternity. I was suffused with the feeling I’d craved. My man had filled me completely and stretched my little cunt so that every cell in my body knew I had been filled, fucked, and possessed by a real man. I understood now that it wasn’t about being his slave, simply that I was his woman.

My imagination was fast forwarding to a time when the IUD was removed and Randy’s hot cream would be carrying millions of his sperm into my womb to start their search and fertilize mission. Some kind of genetic, cellular memory told me that when I was fertile and his sperm were fertilizing me, I would feel an even more profound satisfaction than the incredible glow that filled me now. I can’t wait for my hips to get wide enough to deliver a baby without problems so my husband can knock me up.

We were wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing the post orgasmic ecstasy we had given each other. Even in my barely conscious state, I knew I had a big, satisfied smile on my face. I nuzzled into Randy’s fuzzy chest and let my body drift on a sea of satisfaction.

When we came back to this world, we were grinning at each other like virgins after their first fuck.

Randy whispered, “Did I meet your expectations, Mrs. Turner?”

“Oh honey, you have a beautiful cock that filled me up completely and stretched me to my limit. I swear you used that big thing on me so good, it was like I’d never had sex before,” I said.

“So you don’t think you made a mistake, marrying an old man?” Randy asked.

“I’m delighted to be your wife, sweetheart. I promise you I’ll never have a headache or make any other excuse, because I’m going to want to make love every bit as much as you do. Can your ego deal with me jumping on you?” I said.

“Oh, if you beg for it every now and then, I’m sure my ego will survive,” Randy said.

We took full advantage of every minute of our honeymoon. We got confirmation that we think alike, especially about sex. If one of us asked the other if we wanted sex, we would answer, “Yes please!”

The last day of our honeymoon, Randy said, “Baby you are absolutely the perfect woman to be my wife. No one has ever understood me the way you do, and I am happier than I’ve ever been.”

“Are you saying that you are happy your wife likes sex with you and will give you all you can handle with no begging or jewelry required?” I asked.

“While I think that it is really important for both of us that we are sexually compatible, I was thinking about how well we communicate, how well we work together, and how we think alike about so many things. We like the same music, and now you like sailing as much as I do. I was thinking mostly about how we are a perfect match for each other,” Randy replied.

We got back to the marina, tied up “Quark Quark” and I hooked up the hose to the fresh water tap on the dock. I washed down the topsides to get the salt water off. I also washed out the chain locker so there was no mud or algae to get smelly. Randy checked to make sure all the sails and ropes were properly stowed.

We cleaned up inside really well. I emptied the freezer and refrigerator into an ice chest to take home. I washed and dried out the freezer and fridge, and propped the doors open so they would air out. We collected up the bedding, towels, and everything else that needed to be washed, and put everything to go home in the back of Randy’s SUV.

I realized that I’m talking about Randy’s house when I’m talking about home. It’s someplace I haven’t been very much. I know I’m a pretty good cook, so we won’t starve. I guess I can learn the stuff like cleaning and laundry as I go. I don’t know if it’s because I’m fourteen and it’s like playing house, or like playing with dolls, or that I want to prove I’m mature enough to succeed managing a household. I know I’ll have several years to learn those things before I’m ready to become a mother and need to know how to do them so I can take care of my family, but deep inside, I wish I was already pregnant.

I called Mrs. Connors and told her we were back, everything was good, and getting married to Randy was the best choice I ever made. She congratulated me on being happy with the man and the life I picked. She warned me that going back to school might be stressful for both Randy and me. I thanked her for everything and asked her to thank her husband for being a good foster parent and not doing anything creepy. She laughed and said it wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but that she had him on a really tight leash, plus she tried to keep him too worn out to want to molest little girls. Somehow, I got the feeling she was only joking a little.

We got home and unloaded the Navigator. I caught myself thinking, “Well that’s a typical rich boy car!” when I first saw it, but now I have to admit it’s the most comfortable car I’ve ever been in. It has four-wheel drive, and it can haul stuff like a truck. Considering Randy’s boat, it’s about the perfect vehicle for him, and now, us.

All my clothes from the Connors were in a suitcase, which Randy bought for me, so I wouldn’t have to put my things in a black garbage bag when I left the Connors. I hadn’t put anything away yet because Randy hadn’t made room for my clothes. We didn’t want it to look like we were living together before we were legally married. I opened the suitcase and got out clothes for school. Randy took me to the bathroom and we undressed each other. We took a long, hot shower to get cleaner that the five-gallon water heater on “Quark Quark” allowed. We had a lot of fun playing with each other’s naked bodies too.

Randy shampooed my hair, rinsed it, and put in the conditioner. He rinsed me off, and I got out of the shower feeling pampered and decadent. Randy doesn’t act rich like his dad does, but if a premium something is more comfortable or more useful, he uses his money to buy it. The towels on the shelves were thick, soft, and thirsty. I definitely approved of this luxury. My hair usually takes a very long time to dry without using a dryer, but the heat from a dryer damages my hair. The towels were so big and thick, the one I used to wrap my hair pulled so much of the water out of my hair that it was ready to comb out almost immediately. Randy dried off and then dried my back. His towels were so big, I felt like I could get lost in one of them. I combed out my hair, then Randy brushed my hair until it was smooth and shining.

Randy took my hand and led me to his bed. He picked me up and I threw my arms around his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist. I guess I do that a lot, but he gets me so excited, I’m always very enthusiastic! He kissed me, and everything else in the world ceased to exist. His body and mine became my entire universe. We made love more slowly and gently than we had on our honeymoon. We came together, and sank into sweet sleep, cradled in each other’s arms.

I set Randy’s alarm an hour earlier than he had it set when he was a single man. It woke us, and I jumped on Randy’s morning hard-on and rode him to two delicious orgasms. I knew he couldn’t cum with a full bladder, so I let him up to pee. When he came back to bed, he loved me to two more orgasms, then shot my cunt full of his hot cream. We cuddled, not nearly as long as I would have liked, but we had to shower and wash my husband’s cum out of my pussy. We got dressed, I made breakfast, and Randy showed me how to make coffee the way he likes it. After we ate, I cleaned up the kitchen, and we went out to the car to go to school.

We got there a little early because we had to change all my student records. The secretary didn’t quite know what to do, but she filled out the forms to show that my husband was the adult responsible for me. Randy and I had a good laugh over that. Randy also put me on his insurance.

I had to have a different Physics teacher because there would be a conflict of interest if Randy graded my exams. Mrs. Owens was a little younger than Randy, and I looked forward to being one of her favorite students, so I could talk to her about how a woman could have a career in mathematics or a scientific field, and what were the best steps to take to get on a successful career track. Of course equally important will be learning what steps are career suicide. While I wouldn’t mind having lots of babies with Randy, it does seem selfish not to use my intellectual gifts to make life on earth better in some way.

I got all my paperwork done, then I got called into the “Dean of Women’s” office. (A pretentious title given to a female assistant principal.)

She gave me the typical uptight, don’t talk about sex with your husband to other girls or we will have a pregnancy epidemic and a bunch of girls exploited by child molesters, song and dance. I looked properly serious, nodded and said, “Yes ma’am” a number of times. I got sent on to my first period class, and was only a few minutes late.

Honestly, I don’t have any girlfriends or even girls that I like well enough to share even a tiny crumb of how good it is for this girl to get loved physically by the man I love emotionally. Maybe my sensory and sexual equipment works better than other girls’. I certainly wouldn’t recommend any fourteen-year-old girl having sex unless she has evaluated her feelings and knows she wants to be with a partner forever. Unless you think about what happens when the man you think you love wants to have kids and will probably subject your body to pregnancy, you aren’t thinking clearly, and it’s probably just a crush. Even more important if you are in love with an older guy like I am, you need to be willing to accept his mortality and think about how old you will be and how old any children you have together, will be when he reaches an age where statistics say he might die.

Randy and I don’t dwell on it, but I’ve thought it through carefully and realistically, and I know the risks I’m taking. I’m not morbid, but like I said, I am realistic.

No one seems to have missed me. My teachers know if I want to put in the effort I’ll have an “A” in their class. The kids know I always know the answer, but I’m not emotionally needy enough to wave my arm in the air at every question.

At lunch though, I’m surprised at the girls who sit down with me at the “social outcasts” table. I know who some of them are, and I’m shocked that the captain of the cheer squad is sitting to my right. She has a serious, “I really want to know” look on her face. I tell myself to be nice and remind myself not to make fun of anyone for being naïve or immature.

“Hey Carla, it looks like you have something on your mind,” I said.

“You could say that. I know we haven’t talked before, but I want you to know that I didn’t get to be cheer captain by sleeping with anyone,” Carla said.

“Like you just said, I don’t know you. I would never assume you acted a certain way just because you are a cheerleader. My assumptions about you being captain would be that you are good at motivating the other girls, making sure they follow the rules and perform up to standards. I’m also thinking you have demonstrated some management skills,” I said.

“Wow, that sounds like something an adult would say, certainly not a freshman in high school. The real world in this school is gossip and trying to tear other people down. So that’s why I don’t really want to talk here. If the wrong person, or one of their spies overheard, I’d be ruined. Could you possibly come over to my house after school, so we can talk and I can be sure you are the only person who hears?” Carla asked.

“You know I’m married and a math and science geek, right? I have no interest in getting involved in the female power wars or the jock testosterone battles. I have no desire to improve my social status either,” I said.

“That’s why I want to talk to you. I think you will be honest and not have an agenda,” Carla said.

“Ok, I can listen at least. I have to tell you I won’t try to make anyone jealous, I won’t spread rumors, and I won’t be an accessory to a felony for sure, and probably not a misdemeanor either,” I said.

“Oh, you are funny. I guess that’s “smart humor.” I just am confused about some stuff. I want to know what you think because you are smart, and because you are married, OK?” Carla said.

“OK, I can give you about an hour and thirty minutes after school. Then I need to be home, taking care of stuff,” I said.

“Fine. I have a car, so please meet me at the student parking lot after school. I’ll take you home after we talk, by the way, so you can take care of stuff,” Carla said, grinning at me like she wanted to say, “stuff like Mr. Turner, or parts of him anyway...”

I went through my afternoon classes, making sure to make the best impression I could on Mrs. Owens for two reasons. First, I want her to know Randy did a good job teaching me and wasn’t exploiting me or using his status to get in my panties. Second, I want her to think I’m smart and like me, so I can find out about how a woman can have a math and/or science career.

I was waiting at the student parking lot after school. Carla came out of the building and we walked to her car. It was a navy-blue Miata, which I thought probably looked good with the top down, her blonde hair blowing in the breeze.