Doesn't Happen to Jessie
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2019 by Uther Pendragon

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Jessie Albright had long ago decided that romance didn't happen to Jessie. Then Stu Cameron broke into her life. 3 parts, May 17, 21, and 24. First posting anywhere.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   First  

“I pronounce you man and wife,” Pastor Hank said. Stu lifted her veil and kissed her. It was rather a chaste kiss, no tongue and rather brief. Jessie was thrilled, though.

She was a married woman. She had read the romance books for most of two decades, and she had decided years ago that those things didn’t happen to her. She had dithered between thinking that they didn’t happen and thinking that they happened, just not to Jessie.

They got to the reception hall and stood in line. A lot of other guys kissed her, but it wasn’t so special.

She had her first waltz with Stu, and he knew how to waltz. This was fortunate, because she didn’t. Then they went to regular dances, and she stayed with Stu. When she got tired of dancing, she circulated.

“Interesting friend your man has, Jessie,” Chief Watkins said. “I must say that if I didn’t know him, he and his buddy are both the sorts of guy I used to loosen my gun in my holster on traffic stops when I was in the cruiser alone.” Watkins was a retired state trooper and the chief of the town police force.

“You mean you think Stu looks like a crook?” she asked. She kept feeling that this was too good to be true; was this the catch?

“I’m not carrying,” Kevin, the best man, said from behind him. “I flew into here.” She, who had spent 20 of her 27 years in this town, had three bridesmaids and a dozen other guests from out of town at the wedding; Stu, who hadn’t spent two months in town, had one person from out of town, Kevin, there.

“Not like a crook,” the Chief said. “I’ve arrested guys I knew were crooks with my night stick in my right hand. It’s just that he and this guy both look like they know how to deal violence. The sort of guys who’d consider whether they’d be going through airport security before they decided whether to go armed to a wedding reception,”

Kevin laughed. “Good point. I’m Kevin Brighton. I’ve known Stu since Ranger school, and I’ve never known him to strike a policeman.”

“That what you guys have in common? Stan Watkins. I’m what this town calls its chief of police. Sounds important until you see the size of the force.”

“Meetcha. We met in Ranger School, got to be friends a little later. Cam’s not dangerous; he mostly handles Internet security now.”

Later, sitting next to Stu at the head table, she said: “You never told me that you were a Ranger.”

“Well, you never asked. If that’s a deal breaker for you, you should have. Were you ever a Girl Scout?”

“No. Were you a Boy Scout?”

“I was a Cub Scout and didn’t enjoy it,” he said. “When the family moved, I didn’t go on. But my point is that there’s lot about you I don’t know, and there’s a lot, maybe more, about me that you don’t know. It’s going to be fun finding out.”

Then everybody clinked their glasses, and Stu kissed her. She remembered why she had married him and forgot her doubts.

In the car driving back, an entirely new set of doubts arose. She knew what the wedding night involved, or, rather, her romance novels had told her what marvels it involved, and she didn’t know how much of that happened, how much didn’t happen, and how much didn’t happen to Jessie.

She was not an ugly woman, and she’d been a pretty girl in high school, when many girls are pretty. Her Dad had driven her on dates and watched approvingly as the boys had kissed her good night. Then, Jerry, her then boyfriend, had got his driver’s license. They’d parked and kissed a lot more. Jerry, who had no more experience than she had, had heard from the boys who did. After a few struggles, they broke up. Brock moved more slowly and more suavely. He had unbuttoned her blouse when Mom was first diagnosed.

For a while, she refused dates. Mom resisted the cancer for nearly a year, and she didn’t feel in the mood to dance or watch movies while she knew Mom was suffering. Then Mom died, and she mourned and sympathized with Dad who mourned more deeply. Then, when she was ready to accept a date again, she didn’t know how to tell boys.

Finally, she went to one of the last dances of the year stag. Guys saw her there and figured out that she was available.

She was not, however, as available as other girls in her grade were. She had parked twice with her blouse unbuttoned with a guy she’d dated many times and come to like. The new dates expected to get in the back seat and open her bra. Many of them expected to do that on the first date.

She got the reputation of a prude. She still had dates for her senior year, but not dates with guys who had great chances elsewhere. And those guys didn’t really turn her on, either.

When she went to UW Madison, she had another chance and she was ready to get into the back seat by then. The guys, though, certainly the hunks and the jocks, expected more than that. She had some dates in college, fewer third dates, and fewer still fourth dates.

She got out with a business degree with a concentration in the hospitality industry. She went on the desk of a mid level hotel in Milwaukee. After a bit, she got invited on dates. It seemed to her that first, there were fewer single men, and second, that her contemporaries had gone on again.

Dan, who worked at the same desk, seemed to like her more than he wanted to get into her panties. When Dad died, and she inherited the house and enough cash to fix it up, Dan was one argument against founding her own Bed and Breakfast. She was 25, and she figured that if she went on, she would be assistant manager of some mid level hotel by the time she was 50. Or, she could be owner of her own small B&B. Dan was going to stay in Milwaukee. It was much too early in their relationship to bring him to Fairfield. And what would he do? Managing a B&B was not work for two trained hotel managers.

In Fairfield, people remembered the prude, and most men of her age had married, moved away, or both.

She had guests, but guests were strictly off limits. She was Jessie, and they were guests at Jessie’s Bed and Breakfast. She would share the breakfast if they got up early enough, but never the bed.

Then Stu had blasted through all that. He’d come first to see the leaves turn. One morning, he’d stayed at the place until the others were gone. He’d come into the kitchen. She tried to keep the guests out, but she didn’t like to appear unwelcoming. Part of the package was that you were in a home rather than an institution.

“Look,” he’d said after some socialization, “I’m not going to compete ever; I’m in Internet Security, but businesses interest me. This one is beyond my comprehension, though you appear to have it under control. Is this one of your hot times?”

“Yeah. Lots of people like to look at the leaves. Then, there are ski places nearby, and some skiers stay here. They head out early, and I sell some box lunches. Serious skiers don’t want amenities; they want to ski. Then, of course, the summer is regular vacation time. We get less than our share, but that’s still a lot.”

“And when does it die?”

“Snow melt until school gets out. Can’t blame them. The kids are in school; the few couples going on honeymoons want warm climates; trees are bare. We make our annual repairs then. The lesser break comes between leaves and snow.”

He thanked her and made his way to his car. She recognized the name Stuart Cameron when another registration came in by e mail. It was for Friday, October 20, through Sunday, November 5. That would be two weeks that the place would have a guest every day during a season in which there were sometimes empty weekends. Even if she hadn’t remembered his name, the payment by ETF would have reminded her. Most people wrote checks or used credit cards at sign out.

There was a couple as well as Stu for the first weekend. Stu was downstairs when they left and offered to help with the luggage.

“Now,” he said when he came back in, “Miss Jessica Albright, would you do me the honor of having dinner with me tomorrow night? Do you like Italian? There’s an Italian place towards Madison which gets great reviews on Yelp.”

“I don’t serve dinners, only breakfasts.”

“As a means of deliberately misunderstanding the request, don’t you think that was fairly transparent?”

“I do not date guests,” she said.

“Well, I am only one guest. After all, in the first place, you might not serve me a dinner, but you have to eat one. In the second place, what you sell is not only your delightful residence and the friendly service. You also sell the ambience of the surrounding countryside. With the leaves gone, the ambience is reduced to the neighboring restaurants. I would find this one much more pleasant in your company.”

“That’s ridiculous sophistry. Yes, I shall eat dinner, but in the splendid isolation of my own kitchen. If you don’t enjoy your own company, then I pity you.”

“I didn’t say that I didn’t enjoy my own company,” he said moving to lean against the door into her suite. “I said that I would enjoy yours so much more. Since you enjoy it more, as well, you should sympathize with me. I don’t claim mine is of comparable worth, but give me a chance to prove that I’m not a crashing bore.”

“Well, up until now, I’ve enjoyed your company. I, however, make it a rule that I don’t date any guest. You wouldn’t want me to break my rules, would you?”

“Actually, I would. Who would know? Come to dinner, a discreet distance away, although that wasn’t my reason for choosing the restaurant. Live dangerously. How great is the danger?”

Well the danger of having a man interested in her sharing the house with her was obvious to her, but she couldn’t say so. It might give him ideas. Then, too, he already was expressing that sort of interest in her, and they were going to be spending the night in the same house for the next two weeks. She accepted, and he thanked her. More important, he moved away from the door into her suite.

The next night, he behaved like a gentleman. At the end of the meal, he drove her home. She thanked him for the date, and his kiss at the door to her suite was gentle, the first date kisses she remembered from the times when her dates didn’t have a license, if more expert.

Tuesday at breakfast, he asked her to dinner Wednesday night. The rule had been broken, and the world had not ended. Besides, she had enjoyed herself. She accepted. The kiss at the end of the date was a little warmer, but he left her to go upstairs by himself. They ate in a Chinese restaurant on Thursday.

That weekend, there were no other guests. He asked her to a play in Madison Friday night. The date also included another restaurant. The kiss at the end of the date was hot, and he lifted her by her seat and pressed her against her door before leaving her.

The next week went the same way. They did not make out, or even touch much, in his car. They ended the dates standing up with his tongue ravaging her mouth and his hands inflaming her body. She would feel him hard against her, and then he would tear himself away to head up the stairs.

Alone, in her bed, she would bring herself off wondering when he would push her to open the door to him. In the state he left her, she doubted that she would deny him.

It was in his car, though, that he shocked her. There were other guests that weekend, a honeymooning couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other and made her jealous that Stu could keep his hands off her. When they were finally gone Sunday night, Stu suggested a picnic for Monday lunch. The weather turned wet, and they ate the lunch in his car.

“Jessica,” he started out. She loved that he used her real first name. Jessie had become something of a frump; she could believe that Jessica was beautiful.

“Yes, Stu?”

“Wonderful beginning. Stick with it. Jessica, will you marry me?”

“What!” She couldn’t believe that. That sort of thing didn’t happen to Jessie. Besides she had decided that the sort of novel where the couple has a wedding first and sex afterwards was old fashioned. It didn’t happen to anyone any more.

He answered her questions. He countered her arguments. She realized, much later when he wasn’t around to distract her, that she had been a lot easier to convince to marry him than to go on their first date.

He drove her to a jeweler in Madison. She chose a ring set, and he asked for a cash discount. He typed on his iPad, the jeweler checked with his bank, and they walked out with the ring set. In a rare break in the rain, Stu took her to a park. He got down on one knee on wet pavement and repeated the proposal more elaborately. She accepted, and he slipped the ring on her finger.

For all the time leading up to the wedding, time Stu had expected to be much shorter, the same rules applied. They ate dinner at a restaurant and got back relatively early. He kissed her and stroked her against the door, but he didn’t ask to go in.

And, now, they wouldn’t stop at the doorway.

“My room tonight, I think,” he said. He led her up the stairs by the hand. In his room, where the bedside lamp had been left on, he closed the door behind them before pressing her against it.

This kiss was as thorough as any he’d given her, and his hands made almost as free. They were inside the room, though, and they would not stop.

When he finally put her down, it was to walk behind her and pull down the zipper. He hung the elaborate dress in his closet, where his clothes had been shoved to one side to accommodate it.

He hung up both his tux and his shirt before returning to her. His kiss was as wild, if a little briefer, and the slip came off.

With her skin bared, he kissed that as well as her mouth. He’d never seen her breasts; well, a bit of cleavage, but not her nipples. Other guys had, but not him. When he did, he stroked them and kissed them.

When she was topless, he lay her down on the bed. It was neatly made with clean sheets he’d asked her for days before. He removed her shoes, kissed her, kissed her breasts again. He removed one stocking, and kissed up that leg, repeated his actions on the other leg.

He got his own shoes and socks, but not his trousers, off before returning to her mouth. He lay over her while his tongue wrestled hers. His chest pressed warmly, if ticklishly, against her breasts, his clothed legs were rough between her naked thighs, and his erection pressed through his trousers and her panties against her mound.

When he shifted, he got on his knees in the bed and pulled on the elastic of her panties. Other guys had seen everything else he had bared, but not this. Still, they were married. She was almost sure he would take his own pants off and not just open the zipper to stick it in her.

“Oh, Jessica,” he said, “you are so lovely.” She wasn’t lovely, and that certainly wasn’t lovely. Faces can be pretty; mounds can’t be. Still, his voice sounded sincere, and she wanted to be lovely.

He lay down beside her and kissed her again. His hand played with her breast. Then it stroked down, down further. She pressed her legs together, and she could feel his smile against her lips. He moved down her thighs, and then stroked upward between them. It tickled, but it was arousing. Well, this had to be done, and it was silly to resist. She forced her legs to part. He cupped her, and some fingers spread her labia. She clenched her legs together again, but that only increased the pressure on the finger.

He sprinkled kisses over her face, and by the time his mouth returned to hers, the excitement began to rise. She stiffened, and he stroked slowly across her clit. He was too slow, taking too long. She would have told him so, but his mouth covered hers.

And, then, she came, deeply.

It was more satisfying than it usually was, and she was ready for sleep now. Then she realized that sleep wasn’t the next step; next he would enter her.

She spread her legs for that, but his finger did not still, and his mouth left hers to inch down her cheek, her neck, and down to her breast. She was stiff by the time he reached her nipple. There he stayed, licking or sucking to the same slow rhythm as his finger made. She tensed more. She could not bear it; she would break if this went on.

And then she broke. Spasms wracked her.

“Yes, Jessica. Yes, darling,” he said. His finger stopped still for a minute, and his hand rested heavily on the bottom of her heaving belly. That was more profound than any climax she had ever felt.

He kissed down one heaving breast. Then, he kissed up the bottom of the other. His finger began moving again, and it stroked across her clit just as he sucked the new nipple for the first time.

The heat built, and she stiffened. His finger slowed and became gentler. Even his tongue touched her nipple more lightly. She stiffened more, but she hovered on the edge of her climax. She almost grabbed his finger to move it more forcefully.

“Stu, please,” she said, “please.”

“Yes, my love. Yes, my Jessica. Just a little longer.” But she couldn’t take longer, couldn’t take one more tightening of the rack.

Then she had to take another tightening, and then yet another.

Suddenly, she shattered. Her pain wracked body burst into fragments, but they were fragments of joy. She undulated under his hand, and she moaned her pleasure. He left her breast and kissed her ear.

“Lovely Jessica,” he murmured into her ear, “marvelous Jessica.” And she felt marvelous, felt like Jessica. In his arms she wasn’t plain, reliable Jessie. She was champagne Jessica, and if they played the waltz again, she would know the steps.

Then he was kissing her neck, kissing her shoulder and then the gasping chest between her breasts. He kissed down over her heaving belly.

She suddenly knew where these kisses were headed. A hundred novels had told her about the target of that line of kisses.

But men didn’t really kiss women there, did they? That didn’t really happen to women. Well, Stu was kneeling between her legs and licking her navel. It tickled, just as the books said, and men really did it unless Stu had read some novels, too. But they didn’t do it to Jessie!

“Stu!” she cried out. But she knew how that argument ended, and she’d never been able to stop Stu. But she was so dirty there, she could feel the moisture running down her outer labia.

There was one lick on the inside of one thigh, one lick on the inside of the other. Then he grabbed the pillow she wasn’t using. He lifted her butt, all her body below her shoulders, and thrust the pillow there. Stu was so strong, so masterful. He kissed her thighs.

His fingers parted her labia, and she could feel him lick her. It sent a thrill through her.

The first touch of his tongue on her clit was an electric shock. Her muscles warned that they couldn’t take that stiffening again, but they stiffened. She hung in the same agonizing limbo once again.

Then, with a groan, she shattered again. This time, somehow, she kept on shattering. Lightning blazed through her, blazed again, repeated yet again.

When Stu finally lifted his mouth, he left her no more than a limp dishrag.

She lay gasping while he moved on the bed apart from her. She heard his trousers drop to the floor and then felt the corner of the mattress bend.

He was between her legs and it was his hair, not the trouser cloth, which was tickling her thighs. Her labia were sensitive from their adventures and felt his fingers acutely. He spread them, and she felt something cool and slippery between them.

“Jessica,” he said from inches above her face, “say yes.”

“Yes.” He entered her, stretched her. Then he was sliding in and filling her. The cool lubricant was somehow soothing to her sensitized flesh.

“Are you okay?” She nodded. There hadn’t been any pain, maybe a mild discomfort. He was a hell of a lot bigger than a Tampax.

He moved in and out, slowly and then more rapidly.

“Oh!” he said. “Oh, damn!” He drove into her, shoving her half off the pillow. He throbbed in her and then dropped to her side. He only lay on her right arm and right leg.

The foreplay had been marvelous. She had come more intensely than ever before, and more often than some months before Stu’s visits.

The actual sex hadn’t been so exciting. Well, that part of the books didn’t happen; at least it didn’t happen to Jessie.

On the other hand, Stu, who had now got back on hands and knees and was extricating them from all the tangles, seemed pleased as punch. He’d been very good to her, and it was good that she could reciprocate. He got them nearly covered and turned off the lamp. He snuggled under the sheet and blanket and tucked her in.

“Love you,” he said.

“Love you, too ... Didn’t I say ‘yes’ in the service?”

“I think so.”

“Then why did you ask again?”

“Well, it’s nice to hear,” he said. “I said that I loved you in the service, too.”

It was a little too warm with both of them under the covers and next to each other, but it felt terribly cozy, too.

She woke up to someone getting into her bed. She was naked, and it was a man.

“Jessica,” Stu said, only he drew it out, “Jess sick kah. Guess what. You’re married.”

By that time, she had remembered that. They were married, this was his bed and not hers, and he was as naked as she was. He gave her a kiss, and she tasted tooth paste. But her bladder was about to burst.

She broke the kiss. “There is a robe for you,” he said. “Green, never been worn.” She grabbed it on the way to his bathroom.

The courtesy toothbrush had never been opened, and she used it to brush her own teeth. She used his washcloth to remove some of the remnants of her makeup and came out in the robe. It was a man’s robe, and too large. It was also thin and inadequately concealing.

“Coming back to bed?” he asked.

“I have to get downstairs. What time is it?” It was, from the light coming in the window, much too late to sleep in.

“Morning. You don’t have any guests, just a husband, and he would prefer your company to any breakfast.”

“You don’t want my company before coffee,” she said. She went downstairs, started the coffee, and went into her own suite. The alarm was beeping as if it were tired of sounding for someone who was sleeping in elsewhere. In the shower, she remembered the day before, the night before. Things like that didn’t happen to Jessie. She was a little sore in muscles which Jessie didn’t use. She dressed and put on makeup. The coffee was still not ready when she got to the kitchen. He was sitting at the table.

“Coffee,” he said. “Show me where the cups are. Then, you make a lovely breakfast, though I like the first B better, but today is a special day. Where do you want to go for breakfast?”

“This is a special day, and I’ll cook breakfast. I’ve never cooked breakfast for my husband before.”

“Say that again.”

“I’ve never cooked breakfast for my husband before,” she repeated.

“I like that word. I’m your husband and you’re my wife.”

She had planned this breakfast. It was a western omelet and pancakes with honey instead of syrup. She started cooking. He opened cabinets until he found the proper tableware. Then, he sat at the table and watched her cook. He stopped her when she was carrying the food to the table. He took it from her, put it down, and pulled her into a kiss.

It wasn’t that hot of a kiss, but his hand was on her ass.

“Now,” he said. “This is the most romantic B&B in Wisconsin, maybe the entire USA. It would be a lovely spot for a honeymoon. It is the absolutely worst spot for your honeymoon. Would Chicago be too prosaic?”

“Chicago would be fine.”

“When do you have to be back?”

“I really would be more comfortable being here Friday morning,” she said.

“Okay. Let’s plan on arriving Thursday night. I don’t think a motel would be better than our own bed.” A frisson went through her at the words “our bed,” and he looked at her as though he’d intended that.

“You say this is a slow season for B&Bs,” he said. “Let’s see if that holds for big hotels.” He lay down the fork to use his iPad. Minutes later, he said, “Room reserved.”

“Major hotels are almost never filled. Even when they host conventions, there is often more room.”

“Well, let’s hope the Elks aren’t there with us ... You know so much, don’t you?”

“I know only bits and pieces,” she said. “For example, what do I know about you?”

“That I love you. Anything more, and you have but to ask.” She supposed that she knew that he loved her. What she didn’t know was what love meant to him. And she could have asked whether he had been in the Rangers, and he would have told her. Who knew to ask that? He helped clear the table. “All your breakfasts are delicious, but I think you surpassed yourself that time.”

“It was a special day.”

“Look, the sooner we start, the sooner we begin our honeymoon. How long will you take to pack?”

“Not all that long,” she said. “You?”

“I’m already packed. Then, I had my plans made.” Yeah, there had been a lot of space in his closet. “Can I watch you pack? Maybe talk, too?”

“Watch? Yeah.” After all, they were married. He’d be living in that room when they got back. “Talk? Not if you’re in a hurry. I have to think.” So, he watched her, only speaking when she asked his plans for Chicago. Towards the end, he went up to bring down his luggage. He put the tux in the car and brought the wedding dress and her underwear down for her to take care of. They had a kiss before he took her luggage out, and another before she got into the car. This marriage business was fun, but maybe it was only the honeymoon.

“Look,” he said with the engine running but the car not moving, “I’d like a joint account. Could we set it up today?” Well, he’d paid for everything this far. He’d even paid rent through ten days ago. She nodded. “Then you have to decide your name. I mean socially. The B&B is still ‘Jessie’s.’ But the checks can be anything from Stuart Cameron and Jessica Albright on separate lines to ‘Mr. and Mrs. Stuart Cameron’ all on one line. What’s on the check isn’t determinative, but that’s a decision, and the check is the first step.”

“Okay.” She loved his calling her “Jessica,” but she thought she wanted that to be special. By the time she needed to, she would make this decision.

When they got to the bank, she automatically asked for Mr. Warren. Half way through, she figured out that opening new accounts was below his level of responsibility. He never said so, though, and remained pleasant throughout. Stu opened the account with a personal check for $1,000.

“You realize that you can’t write checks on the account until this clears,” Mr. Warren said. “Jessie has funds in this bank which can be transferred over.”

“What checks?” Stu asked. “You’re going to have to send away for them. This will clear long before the checks will be delivered.”

“We usually give new depositors a small supply of checks without the printing on it.”

“Look, we’re easing ourselves into this married thing. Let’s skip those checks. Both Jessica and I have our own accounts. Those will work until the checks are delivered.”

She wrote ‘Stuart Cameron’ and ‘Jessie Albright’ on separate lines for the header of the checks. Stu asked for a few deposit slips and for Mr. Warren to write the account number clearly for him.

They were silent until Stu had dropped off the tux and they were on the way to Chicago.

“Look,” he said. “You want to go on operating the B&B, don’t you? Cancel that. Do you want to go on operating the B&B?”

“Sure.” He had never hinted at any other possibility.

“And the breakfast part sort of eliminates commuting. You need to live there?”

“The rest of it eliminates living anywhere else, too,” she said, “Sally is a great help, but you need hands on something like 24 7. You never suggested anything else.”

“I’m not suggesting anything else. I’m just trying to not take you for granted. Well, if you live in that suite, so do I. We sleep in the same bed every night; that’s my bottom line. Well, if you contribute housing and food for us both, I’m going to recommend that you use the joint account to pay for everything else. It seems backward that I contribute your clothes and gas and not your food and housing, but that’s our situation.”

“And how long do you think $1,000 will last?”

“That was just to open the account. I have the routing number, and I’ll have my salary go by ETF, I’ll use the account, too, so we’ll have to work out some way that we don’t both drain it at once. I don’t want to put you on some sort of allowance. We’ll figure something out.

“That’s later, though,” he continued. “This is the honeymoon, and I don’t want you buying anything for yourself but the occasional candy bar.”

“So, ask me anything,” he said when they were on the interstate. “You were upset that I hadn’t told you about the Rangers.” Well, if she’d asked him questions for a year, ‘Were you in the Rangers?’ wouldn’t have been one of them.

“Before you proposed, why didn’t you try to take me to bed? You left an awfully turned on woman at the foot of the stairs, sometimes.”

“Well, I wanted to have sex with you, but I wanted to have a life with you, too. I figured that you would be happier with this order. Was I wrong?”

“I suppose not.” She sure had her worries after she had the blessing of the church and all. But that wasn’t really what she needed to know. “Tell me about your life.”

He had been an army brat. Parents divorced, and he never forgave them. He’d gone to college in Information Technology on a ROTC scholarship, done some IT as a lieutenant, transferred to the Rangers. When he got out, his computer skills were obsolete, and Ranger experience qualified you for only so many jobs. Security was one of them.

He’d started as muscle but updated his knowledge of computers and went into computer security. He was now a consultant, and he could work from anywhere there was Internet connectivity.

“You can’t afford top of the line security for your place,” he said at the end, “but you don’t really need it. I’ll look when we get back and set you up with a little.”

She noticed that his description of his past had included no romantic or sexual relations. He hadn’t gotten that good at what he did by inspiration. When he asked about her past, she did the same editing. Well, hers required far less editing.

They did a little sightseeing after signing in, and then ate in one of the hotel dining rooms. After that, they went up to bed. She had her bathroom time first and was lying in her sexy nightie when he came out of the bathroom. He dropped his robe and came to bed naked.

“Look,” she asked. “Do you even own any pajamas?” She then remembered the pajamas in his dresser drawers and hanging on a hook in his closet. She wouldn’t mention them, though. Good hotel employees don’t see things in guest rooms.

“I even packed some. Do you want me to get in them and then out of them?”

“Put like that, probably not. You just seem so blatant. ‘Look at me. I’m going to put that in you.’ I don’t know. I’ve never had a man in my bed before.”

He asked, “Are you being coy, then? ‘I’m covering it up, so you can’t see what I might, or might not, give you.’ Or is if that I’m from Mars and you’re from Venus?”

“Stu, this is supposed to be the sexiest nightie in Fairfield. It’s supposed to make you want to tear it off.”

“Hell! I’ve seen you in jeans and a raincoat and wanted to tear them off. The sexiest sleepwear in Chicago is your skin.” So, she helped him remove the sexy nightie. (He understood that tearing off newly purchased clothes was a definite turn off.) They kissed with him on top and every inch of skin touching.

“That was the problem,” he said. “We didn’t kiss enough before going to bed tonight.” He drew back, but their mouths still met, and their tongues still played. He stroked down her from neck level to between her legs. She could tell that his intruding finger found her juicy.

His mouth skipped from hers to her breast tip. She felt her muscles stiffen. They ached a little from the night before, but it was a delicious ache.

He sucked and stroked, and she came. He only paused briefly, but he switched breasts.

He was moving quite lightly, but her entire vulva was extremely sensitive after the previous night. Her muscles tightened to the point of pain.

Then lightning struck, and she writhed.

“Jessica,” he said. He left her for a moment to scrabble at the side of the bed.

Then he was above her and between her legs. He opened her with his fingers and stretched her with the cool smoothness.

“You are so smooth,” he said, “so tight.” He filled her, and then stopped for a moment. He cupped her breasts and tweaked both nipples at the same time. She wriggled from that, and that moved him inside her.

The smooth, metronomic motion in and out was arousing, and not at all unpleasant. She ran her hands down his back to his driving rump.

“Jessica,” he said. He sped his motions. “Damn!” Then he drove in and pulsed in her. When he relaxed, the chest was against her breasts but not crushing them. His stomach was a little heavier on hers.

He kissed her forehead and moved to her right side. “Love you,” he said. He turned off the lamp and gathered her into his arms. His cock was soft and a little sticky against her rear.

“Where do you put it?” she asked.

“It?”

“The contraceptive.”

“Before or after?” he asked.

“I guess both.”

“Before, I tuck it under a corner of the mattress. Back when I didn’t know quite how we’d end up, I put one beneath each top corner. I really like it this way, though. I can use my right hand. After, the hotel provides a waste paper basket. so did the management of the B&B.”

“We aim to please,” she said.

“Look, you’re a married woman, now. Would you consider going on The Pill?”

“I knew that I was going to be married. I went to the doctor days after you proposed. It takes a bit of time to go into effect.”

“Oh, I love you ... All the time, I mean.” He sounded sheepish. He didn’t have to sound sheepish for saying that. “It’s just that sometimes it leaps into my consciousness.”

He cuddled her breast in his big hand. She could tell that he’d gone to sleep when the hand relaxed.

She woke without an alarm and with a warm body cuddling her. She didn’t have to do anything; they were in the Palmer House. Then, she had to visit the john. Even though it was the Palmer House, especially because it was the Palmer House, she didn’t want to wet the bed. He was in his robe and even his pajamas when she came out.

“I’ve called room service for coffee,” he said. Then he went into the john for his own time.

He was out, but not dressed, when the room service waiter brought up the pot of coffee and two cups. She drained one, and then went to her suitcase.

“Don’t get dressed yet,” he said.

“‘What do you have in mind?’ she asked naively.” Had she ever been that naive?

He leered at her. She was starting to like this. Yes, they were a married couple, legal as all get out. But they were also lovers on a tryst. They were a sexual pair.

She walked towards him, and he opened his arms. They had a lovely kiss. He pulled the sash of her robe when they parted, and she pulled his sash in retaliation.

He was only wearing pajama pants, and he shed his robe immediately. She decided to let him take care of her clothing. It wasn’t quite playing hard to get. He gave her another kiss, not pressing their bodies together this time, and he pushed the robe off her shoulders while he did it. Then, he hugged her while kissing all over her face. She could feel him against her scant nightie, but she couldn’t move her arms. She struggled out of the robe.

He stepped back and lifted the nightie to under her arm pits. “Lie on your stomach,” he said. She took the nightie off before she did. He stripped off his pajama pants and joined her on the bed, both of them naked as jaybirds. The playfulness seemed over, though. He kissed her back and down to the backs of her thighs. He held her down by her back and by her lower leg while he kissed the inside of her knee. That both tickled and aroused.

He was fumbling in the drawer of the night stand, and she took the opportunity to escape and turn around. He got the box of contraceptives and got one out.

“Do you want to do the honors?” She didn’t think it was time, but she took the proffered packet.

She fumbled a bit, but she got the condom out. He lay flat on his back, and she took his cock in her left hand. She put the ring on the tip, and then she rolled it down. She wiped her hands on the sheet.

“Now, lie down,” he said. She lay down and spread her legs. Instead of getting between them, he cupped her. Then he was kissing her breast and stroking her labia. With more speed than he usually showed, he went to sucking her nipple and stroking her clit.

Her body had already gotten used to this process, though it was exciting as hell. When the labia were parted, her clit swelled in expectation of the coming strokes. When her clit was stroked, her muscles prepared for the tension to come. When they were straining against that tension, she also was expecting the relief, and the joy that came with that relief.

Her body threw her mound up into the palm of his hand on every stroke. She tensed. Suddenly, his hand wasn’t on her, and his body was above her.

“Jessica,” he said. He pressed into her, stretched her, filled her. He stroked in and out. The change damped her arousal for two strokes or three. Then the arousal grew again.

Her muscles tensed. Her mound pressed upward again, but now it was not pressing into his palm; it was impaling her on his erection.

The tension grew, peaked.

She shattered. Now she could feel herself contracting around him.

“Jessica.” He sounded tense, and he thrust hard against her. He pulsed within her pulsations.

He fell on her for a moment. Then he pulled himself out. She heard the thump into the waste basket. He pulled the covers over them both, and then pulled her hard against him.

“You are the most marvelous, most glorious woman in all history,” he said. “Oh, you darling.” Apparently, that he’d brought her to climax with his cock was something that she had accomplished. Well, she felt pretty good about it, too.

A little later, though, she felt mostly sticky. She pulled herself out of bed and headed to the shower.

When she came out, he went in. Then they went down to eat brunch, a quite good brunch. He suggested the Art Institute. They ate dinner away from the hotel and took in a live play afterwards.

They got back to the hotel room late, but she felt energized. She had been getting an almost sinful amount of sleep since Sunday night. Still a little shy of him, she undressed in the bathroom and came out in nightie and robe. He went in in trousers but not shirt and came out in his robe. He was naked for one moment, and then he was in bed beside her.

He kissed her shoulder and down her arm. The kiss on the inside of her elbow felt both ticklish and sexy. The kiss on her palm just felt sexy. When he gave her a real kiss, his hand brushed her nighty up. She spread her legs, and he stroked her to serious arousal. He broke the kiss and moved his hand to the hem of her nightie.

“Think it’s time to remove this?” he asked. They removed it together, and then he resumed the kiss. He stroked her breast before returning to her clit.

When her muscles were stiff, he broke the kiss again. “Yes, darling,” he said. “Come for me now.” He sucked on her nipples and stroked her clit more lightly.

The fire roared through her, and she convulsed.

He crooned to her, but he never really relented. Soon, he was stoking a new fire in her. She was close, needing only a little more, when he took his hand and mouth away.

“Say yes,” he said.

“Yes. Please.” He chuckled while he wiggled beside her. She knew he was putting on the birth control.

Then he was between her legs and above her. “Oh, love,” he said from above her face.

He parted her, and then he entered, spread, stretched, filled her. He writhed above her and cupped her breasts.

“So snug,” he said, “still so snug.” Then he was moving in her, slowly, rhythmically. The tension, which had decreased while he made his entrance and adjustments, started to rise again.

The fire built in time with his motions, and he stroked his fingers across her nipples. She felt her muscles tense again, and she moved to meet his thrusts.

The fire burst forth. It shook her. She could feel herself grip him deep inside.

“God!” he said. He drove into her and held himself rigid above her. She could feel him pulsing within her clasp.

Then he dropped to her side. She could hear his gasps, out of sync with her own.

Somewhat later, he shifted in the bed. She heard the contraceptive drop into the waste basket. He snapped off the lamp and pulled her into a hug.

“You are magnificent,” he said into her hair. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

The honeymoon went on like that, with sights by day, and sex by night. When they checked out in the late morning Thursday, she wished she hadn’t said that she needed to be home early.

“Good bye, Chicago,” Stu said when they were on the expressway and heading north.

“Good bye, Jessica,” she responded.

“Um, did we leave her behind? I thought I had Jessica in the car beside me.”

“I used to think these things never happened to Jessie. They don’t, but I found out that they happened to Jessica.”

“Well, really, you only get one wedding night; you only get one honeymoon. We will have opportunity for other vacations, though, and we’re going to spend our nights in the same bed.”

He was right, but so was she. She could feel Jessica slip away as they headed north until only Jessie was in the car when they got back to Fairfield.

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