Chapter 4

Experiment

He woke with a naked Jen beside him, the finest situation he’d ever woken up to. Soon, though, he had to relieve himself. Then, too, he shouldn’t try to kiss her until he’d shaved again. He got into the shower. It was a splendid day, with no task before him but pleasing his new wife, and that was much more self-indulgence than chore. He burst into song. Until he heard the bathroom door open, he didn’t remember that his singing was more than self-expression. He might have awakened her.

“Sorry,” he said. Marriage was more than constant pleasure -- even on a honeymoon. It was another person to consider, and he’d neither experience nor talent for considering others.

“Sing it through.” Well, his talent for singing was better than his talent for considering others. He sang it all through. He stopped soaping to concentrate on the song. Jen flushed right after he finished the song. He finished his wash and rinse. He shaved and then returned to the room with a towel wrapped around him to hide the incipient erection. She might be amenable, but he didn’t want to look demanding, especially when he’d shown he wasn’t thinking about her.

“Sorry. I felt happy and I’ve got into the habit of singing in the shower when I’m happy. I’ll have to remember that I’m not alone anymore.”

“And you’ll have to remember that I like your singing. I asked for your singing.” That was a sweet response. She was lying in bed, and he came over to her.

“You’re sweet.” And her kiss was sweeter than her words. He lay down beside her and began to caress her. She broke away when he got serious, though.

“I need to make my preparations and wash,” she said. She went into the bathroom. He heard the shower running. Waste of water, he intended to get her dirty again. She came out wearing her robe but dropped it to climb into bed with him. They kissed.

“Good morning. A much better morning than the ones after I had to drive back from seeing you.” And, kissing him and welcoming his caresses, she was making it an even better morning.

“You didn’t like visiting me?” But she was smiling. If she wanted more explicit compliments, he enjoyed complimenting her. For that matter, he liked to talk, and this was a subject matter that was unlikely to bore her soon.

“I didn’t like leaving you. I like sleeping next to you all night. I like having you in bed with me in the morning.” And he liked petting her when they both were awake with empty bladders.

“And I like being in bed with you in the morning, too. And I like hearing you sing in the shower. Do you think I could talk the trustees into putting a shower into the Independence parsonage?”

“You can ask. Maybe you shouldn’t tell them the reason.” Although they might think that reason romantic rather than erotic. She’d educated them to see that a minister could be a woman. Leave breaking it to them that a minister could be erotic to a later preacher. Anyway, one of her parishioners knew that she was quite erotic, and he was tasting all the skin he could in this position -- well not all, but all he could while resisting the greater temptation of the nipple.

While his mouth was moving slowly towards its goal, his hand was savoring a great deal of the rest. When he brushed over her thighs, the dear girl spread her legs to give him even better access. He could have reached her center, but he teased himself -- and, he hoped, her -- by keeping to the smooth, white, thighs as long as he could.

“David.” So, he had been teasing her. He stroked over her lips, parted them to reach the inner ones, finally parted those to reach her moisture. When he stroked that up to her clitoris, she sucked in a breath audibly. By then, he was on her other nipple, sucking it to firm, quivering, responsiveness.

But there was a lot he hadn’t kissed. He started down her breast and across her belly. When the path led under the sheet, he pulled it off and got between her legs. He kissed the inside of one thigh and then the other, every change of thighs bringing him closer to the goal and further into range of her aroma of arousal.

She clutched his hair in both hands and moved his head to her groin. He licked and kissed those lips, parting them with his tongue. Each lick started low and went higher. Each lick ended higher than the previous one. Then his tongue touched her clit. He rested it there for a second, then went back down her slit. He alternated licking her lips and just touching her clit while her belly grew firmer and firmer under his hand. Then, she went over with a shout.

“David!” She jerked under his mouth. He could do little more than hold on as she writhed, but he sucked when he could. When she grew still, he kissed her mound and moved back to lay down beside her. He put his arm across her and clasped her shoulder. That shouldn’t be sensitive. He blew into her ear once, but she shivered.

Her first voluntary move was to put her hand over the one he had on her shoulder.

“Jen. Jennifer Blake.”

“That’s my name.” Which was why it was such fun to say.

“The Reverend Mrs. Jennifer Blake,” to be precise. He kissed her mouth. She responded, and he petted her. His tongue touched hers, and he tasted her sweetness. When his tongue pulled back, hers entered his mouth. He sucked it gently before kissing a trail down her face and neck to her lovely breasts. This time, he went to a nipple fairly fast and then simply jumped to the other. Since he didn’t know how much his previous sucking had irritated them, he kept to licking.

Then he moved between her legs and went back for another kiss on the mouth. Her tongue still tasted sweet. Her lovely, responsive, nipples were pressing against his chest. From this position, the breasts were more comfortable to kiss. He gave both smoothnesses their due before licking the nipples again. He needed her warmth. This time, he’d only get her ready with his tongue. When he started there, though, she spoke.

“Now, David.” He agreed completely. She was pulling at his torso. He smiled at her as he complied. He spread her lips with his fingers and placed himself in her entrance. “Yes.”

“Yes!” His tip slipped between her slippery lips. She clasped his head as it entered there. Then she was caressing his shaft while his head drove deeper into her. Totally encased in her welcome, he paused to look in her eyes and smile. Then he let his desire move him through that warm clasp.

Her welcome wasn’t only there. She stroked her hand all down his torso. She held his bottom, pulling him against her. She met his strokes with her own. Then, hers were ahead of his. He tried to keep moving slowly, but he wasn’t sure he could.

“Oh,” she said, but she didn’t climax then.

“Yes, Jen, Yes, love.” Come soon, darling, or I’ll come without you. But he didn’t. Her body writhed under him just before she clutched around him. Now, he could let himself go. But, now he wasn’t holding back, the orgasm was a little beyond him. He stroked through her clutches and then through the smoother, but still warm and welcoming, tunnel as she relaxed. Then, it came. He drove into her and pumped what felt like gallons into her.

He managed to move onto his side before sleep took him far away. He woke alone, but heard the shower running. He could have told her that the first shower was a waste of water. When she came back, she started unpacking. He needed a second shower, too. She was nearly dressed before he was out. He scrambled back into his clothes, and they went down to lunch.

Their after-lunch ramble was inland. He held her hand, sometimes switching hands when they changed directions. There had been all that time in school and in front of her congregation when he’d wanted to touch Jen and couldn’t. Now, they were honeymooners. Anybody who knew them, and few did, only knew them as newlyweds. Holding hands was perfectly appropriate; kissing was perfectly appropriate. Going further was for privacy, but it was perfectly appropriate, too. It would be the observers, if any, who would be breaking the social contract. They finally wandered back to the inn.

“Swim?” he asked her.

“Has it been an hour? I really need to finish unpacking.” He could unpack, too. And they might get in a little innocent necking. It was too soon after the last for him to do anything serious.

“That first, then.” Jen shouldn’t have any ‘shoulds’ nagging at her. She’d have enough of them back in Independence. A pastor’s duties are never done; they are, at best, prioritized. “I don’t think we need to hurry. The Atlantic isn’t going to leave if we’re late.”

But, whatever his resolutions about clearing her mind of nagging duties undone, he stopped her for a kiss. Then, he suggested the sensible division of the drawer space. It would have been sensible for the closet space, too, but there was only one closet. when he’d filled his side, there was plenty of space for Jen.

She went into the bathroom to change into her swimsuit while he put on his suit and a T-shirt and shorts for the trip to the beach. Either she had some residual modesty, or she wanted to make a production of the suit. If the latter, it was worth it. She came out modeling a sexy bikini. He whistled, and it was well worth a whistle. She spun slowly so he could see it all, then covered up with a beach robe. He left his glasses in the room. He didn’t have another pair if these got scratched or broken.

Jen looked comfortable in the ocean. He’d worried, especially after she exhibited the phobia about plane travel. He left her and took a swim. He’d enjoyed the lake, had even enjoyed pools when he used them, but something about the ocean made swimming more fun. He went north keeping just in sight of land. When he came back, she was at the towel.

“Ready to leave?”

“Just about,” she said. “I’ve developed some itches.”

“Saltwater. Give me a few minutes in the sun.” He got into his non-beach clothes, and she put her robe on. They both stepped into their flip-flops, and he picked up the towel. He held her left hand for the entire trip back; he was carrying the towel in his left hand.

In the room, he helped her out of the robe and bikini. Proper removal of a bikini top required the smoothing of his hand between the cup and the flesh, so it didn’t come off shockingly fast. When she turned around, he scratched her back from far enough away that he could ogle her bottom at the same time. He remembered his rare glimpses of her clothed bottom back in Garrett. Those had been nice, but unconfined was even better. They had separate showers -- his third for the day although he scrupulously avoided soap this time.

“Walk before dinner?”

“Sunblock before walk?” she replied. “Although it seems the wrong time.” Well, she probably should. He still considered sunburns something you either avoided by proper moderation or suffered through. On the other hand, he didn’t want to suffer -- let alone have Jen suffer -- a sunburn on their honeymoon.

“Well it would come off in swimming, anyway. And it’s cheaper to cover less skin.”

“Maybe that’s why so many of them didn’t go swimming.”

“Maybe.” He thought that many of the women came to the beach to be seen in their suits. Why some of the men were on the beach but not in the water, he couldn’t say. They’d have looked better totally underwater. Maybe they were afraid that the Atlantic would overflow if they all went in at once. More likely, they were there to look at the women.

They sat on a park bench, in the shade despite the sunblock.

“Enjoy your swim?” he asked her.

“Very much, but I don’t think I floated any higher.”

“Somehow, swimming in fresh water takes more energy. Some of it is to stay on the surface. I can’t just float.”

“I float in fresh water.” Of course, she had all those luscious curves, some of which were buoyant. And he’d heard somewhere that a woman’s vagina held enough air to help her float -- even the uterus did. So, the parts he loved best might keep her afloat. They talked about swimming, then about other things. He was getting hungry, but he’d had plenty of exercise today. Jen hadn’t done all that much swimming, and -- although she’d participated in the more pleasant exercise -- she hadn’t moved so much; she might not have burned as many calories as he had. But it had been an early lunch after no breakfast. He glanced at his watch.

“Hungry?”

“Now I think about it.”

“We don’t have to go back to the inn’s dining room. Feel like fish?”

“That’s what you should have asked this afternoon. But I wouldn’t mind eating some.” That earned her a groan. He kissed his favorite punster, and they went in search of a restaurant. Jen ate with a healthy appetite. He liked that about her -- she lived in her body, not ‘just visiting’ like some women who thought that spiritual. Of course, he suddenly realized, he sometimes was just visiting when he lived in her body. But that was when he lived most vividly.

Dragging his mind out of the gutter, he asked about her food preferences.

“You’ve introduced me to a lot of diversity. I like that.”

“And I like to watch you eat. You enjoy things.”

“Are you telling me that you want me fatter, because I think I gain weight around you. That was all very well when it was a sometimes thing. It might not be for a marriage.”

“Well, for a marriage we won’t always be eating out. If you want to limit things, we’ll do so. I’m a survival cook. I can keep myself alive in the kitchen. You’ve eaten a third of the recipes that I can serve to company. Maybe I’ll cook some nights, and you can diet easily since what I prepare won’t tempt you.”

“I don’t think you’re that bad.”

“As I said, you’ve eaten one of the dishes I can serve company. But it isn’t getting you fat I like about your eating. It’s that you treat your body as though you like it. And, since I like your body, I’m glad that you do, too. Maybe you can compensate for more caloric intake by establishing a rigorous exercise program after bedtime.”

“David!” She blushed -- quite prettily. She then looked around. He didn’t bother. Kids who knew they were going to be tested on the subject matter often didn’t listen to what he was saying; he never expected strangers to do so.

They held hands back to the inn. This was a nice habit. He doubted that they could maintain it in Independence.

“I like holding your hand,” she said in the room. Maybe they could maintain the habit.

“I like holding yours, too. Even if it is mostly euphemistic.”

“Euphemistic?”

“Well.” He turned her to put a hand on each breast. “If we walked like this, you might not like the attention you got from passersby.”

“To say nothing of stepping on your toes.” She was laughing. He kissed what he could reach of her from that position. Then he took off her blouse and bra. He kept kissing her while he figured how to remove her jeans. She was still laughing at him, but she pushed the jeans and even her panties down when he finally found the zipper. He petted her, reaching her mound and even her legs. That however, required that he bend over -- which removed much of his front from her back.

“This would be easier in bed.”

“From this state,” she replied, “you have to help.” She had the jeans down too far to walk. He could have carried her to bed -- cave-man image, but he knelt in front of her to remove her shoes, jeans, and panties. Then, since he was right there anyway, he kissed her mound and sniffed the aroma which said that she was interested. When he let her go, she went to bed. He took off his own clothes and joined her there.

They had a nice hug and a kiss that didn’t need any bending over. But she started back up.

“I have to make my preparations.” But he’d had some ideas.

“I was thinking.”

“About?”

“We’re started on a new life together. How about trying an experiment?” Allowing her to raise the objection of ‘unromantic’ before he suggested the actual experiment. But he wanted to know how many orgasms she was capable of.

“What sort of an experiment?”

“Well, we know you can have more than one orgasm in a single session. What we don’t know is how many. Now, once I get my jollies, that’s the end. I know that; you should have seen that. So...”

“So?” Get explicit, Blake.

“So, we don’t have any obligations in the morning. We don’t really have any obligations in the afternoon. So, tonight, why don’t we see how many orgasms you can reach... ? Reach orally?” And, in doing that, he’d get repeated views -- views, feels, sounds, even smells -- of the most beautiful woman in the world in her most beautiful state.

“You really want to do that?” He shouldn’t have described it as a clinical experiment. Too late now.

“Oh yes!”

“Let me make my preparations, anyway. Just in case.” Which sounded favorable. And a good idea; he didn’t trust himself through this experiment.

“And then experiment?” He wanted to nail this agreement down.

“And then experiment.” She sounded interested as well as willing.

He watched her walk away, appreciating the flex of her butt cheeks. She came out in her nightgown. Well, it was a sexy nightgown. Besides, taking it off was part of sex play. Besides, he needed to make his own preparations, too. He wanted to neither scratch her with his whiskers nor leave her in the middle to empty his bladder.

Probably petting in the middle of this would be inappropriate. So, when he came back to her, he started an elaborate petting session. Besides, the closer she was to orgasm before he got to her clitoris, the more stimulation the clitoris could take later. They kissed, and he petted her through the nightgown. When he figured that both of them found the nightgown an impediment, he helped her remove it. The kisses then only began on her lips. He kissed down to her breast and stroked down to her mound. He even stroked the labia majora. This was too soon to get to the labia minora, though.

When he’d kissed down her torso nearly to her mound, he got between her legs. She raised her knees. He began his kisses on her breasts and kissed a different path down her abdomen. All the time, he was still stroking her mound and labia with his fingers. The second path of kisses ended at her mound. Then he moved to her legs. As her knees were conveniently raised, he could start above the knee and lick from there nearly to her loins. He did this first to his right and then to his left.

Jen was tense, and it looked like the right sort of tension. Yes. When he licked her labia, she was flowing. He alternated licks on her labia and her clitoris while her torso went rigid. Then she writhed under his mouth.

As soon as she relaxed, he thrust two fingers into her. They felt for her G-spot. He let her clit alone but rubbed directly over that little bump. When her tension seemed at another peak, he resumed licking her clit. He was rewarded with her clutching around his fingers. He sucked gently on her clitoris to continue the orgasm.

When she was no longer gripping his fingers, he rubbed her G-spot again. But he stopped moving his fingers and went back to licking her labia and clit when her legs squeezed his head. He added G-spot stimulation when he thought it would bring her over. It did. She contracted around his fingers again and gasped his name while he sucked her clitoris. This climax seemed to last longer than the previous ones had.

“Yes, Jen,” he said when she’d relaxed. He wriggled his fingers to stimulate her G-spot again. “Yes, dearest.” She had three more orgasms around his fingers, although they seemed to weaken from that last peak. Then she pulled him away by his hair.