Need burns my body as I hold my eyes to the camera.
I slip one hand back into my panties, and use the other to tease my nipples, breathing heavily. I rub them until I shiver, then shake as I lower my hands and gently tug the lace to my waist.
Still holding the camera’s eye, I go to the couch, swaying my hips to Liza by the Atomic Weirdos in my head. I take off my top, twirl it twice, and fling it to the carpet.
I continue to sway before shifting direction and nudging my middle toward the camera, pretending Richard’s face was at my center, and that I was pushing my wet and wanting pussy against it.
Richard will know I’m about to strip my panties. He’ll probably sit down and pull out his cock. I imagine my man holding his dick, starting to stroke it, waiting for me to show him my slit. He’ll think about pushing himself into my hole, just as I’m thinking of him pushing himself into me right now. I’m wet at the thought, soaking through the movie in my mind.
I part white panties from my gleaming slit and run my fingers along the slick lips, still staring into the lens. I rub faster, in tighter circles. My shoulders grow heavy. I collapse and fall back, then catch myself, palm flat to the comforter.
My breath grows heavy. I start to purr.
In heat, I turn sideways on the couch, lifting my ass in time with my rubbing. I take two fingers and thrust them inside me.
I rise and I fall, ass to the balls of my heels.
I pant and whimper.
I whimper and moan.
I moan, groan, and inch toward eruption.
I plunge faster, clenching my cunt around my fingers as I cum.
I turn back to stare in the lens through my orgasm, letting Richard look into my wild, pleasured eyes. I squeeze my thighs together, capturing my hand as I rock back and forth, rubbing myself through the pleasure. I finish and smile, then wink and roll back on the bed, lifting my legs in the air.
I slide my panties past my waist and pussy, then my knees and ankles. They hit the floor. I scoot to the bed’s edge, parting my legs as I reach it.
My first orgasm was great. This will be better.
I take the same two fingers, stuff them to the knuckle in my box, then shudder and wiggle around them. I moan and curl upward, pressing the tips to my G-spot. I move inside, turning circles and moaning.
My body heaves.
I wonder how detailed the video will be, hope Richard can see my finger twitching as I plunge as I brush my asshole, each time drawing shivers.
I shake on the couch, rubbing as I plunge, until I finally stop shaking, pull juiced fingers from my drenched pussy, fall back on the couch and shove them back in, fucking myself faster, plowing myself into a crash.
I’m about to explode.
I lose sight of my world as I do.
There’s no camera. I forget that I’m sending a video to Richard, and don’t remember that I’m going home. I don’t remember why I left or what I was supposed to learn. I don’t remember Leigh or Jenny or Zoe or Cooper. I don’t know where I am, and have forgotten that Dean and Ellie are getting seconds downstairs while I make my homecoming for Richard.
I forget everything, holding two fingers deep into my cunt, pressing them hard and firm against my skin, stirring softly as my pussy clenches and pulses around them.
My fingers slosh as my body finishes quivering.
I’ve never been more ready for Richard, or for the rest of my life.
I can’t wait to get home.
The Wedding
The day has dragged.
It would have felt like forever, if it wasn’t the best — most significant — day of my life. We’ve been trying to call it a night for a while: over an hour, at least. We’ve been teasing one another all day, and are dying to reach our room. His whispers are getting more filthy, almost uncharacteristic of Richard.
But the wedding day has been stretched to snapping, with everyone wanting to talk and congratulate the happy couple. People who weren’t sure of our union three months before — or said I was out of my fucking mind — are wishing us wealth and happiness through our forever to come.
The last three months were eternity. Now they are over.
Three months was the soonest we could assemble a wedding, at least one that would please all of the family and friends who would’ve taken it as an insult if we’d gone down to the courthouse like I wanted, and Richard suggested, even though I knew he was kidding.
Three months was too long to stay unmarried. One day would have felt like too much after finally coming home. I wanted to say “I do,” immediately. Instead we spent three months preparing, telling stories, from our past and present, including a new tales never shared. We found a venue and a DJ, then a bakery and florist. Richard found me a dress. If he was any man other than Richard I’m sure that would have been an awful idea. Of course it was perfect instead.
We needed three months to acclimate the citizens of our lives, mostly my parents. Jim and Judy Elway were shocked. They are happy that Richard’s as successful as he is — someone that grounded can only be good for me — but I’m sure they’re worried about the differences between us. If only I could tell them about the things we share, especially in the bedroom, or my quest to make sure we’re perfectly suited, but I can’t, so they’ll have to trust me.
They’ve come up to us all evening, drunk but genuinely happy for both of us. Shockingly, so are my siblings.
Mark is there with Abraham, his partner. Abraham is older, like Richard. All three men marvel and joke about our similarities. Someone eventually suggests that we can double date. I hate this idea more than an STD, but laugh and agree, knowing that Mark and Abraham are moving to New York in two months, and that the odds of us getting together more than once or twice at most are slim if existent at all.
Samantha came alone, as is her style, but spent the wedding and reception, like the 3 months before them, keeping all of her snark to herself. I almost want to have my sister inspected, see if there’s a different Samantha hiding inside her.
To my surprise, I had a great time planning the wedding with her and our mother, tasting cake, choosing flowers, deciding on colors and themes and scents. No lilies allowed. Mom thought it was ridiculous to let Richard choose my dress, Samantha slightly less so. Both gasped when they saw it.
This morning was hard, mostly because Richard wouldn’t fuck me.
He said, “Save it for the wedding,” even though I felt nervous and anxious, and knew he could pound the flutters from my body. Instead, Richard laughed at my discomfort and said it was part of life. He said without bitter, sweet was less than it was, and that we were about to settle in for the sweetest slice of our lives.
That did nothing to keep me from wanting him, but I put on my big girl panties and tried to pretend I wasn’t scared. It wasn’t the marriage, it was the people and crowds. All of the staring. I wanted to be quietly married to Richard, and get to the night.
The ceremony was gorgeous, though not in a church: the one thing Richard insisted. I said I wasn’t sure that would fly. My parents weren’t exactly regular parishioners, but were big on tradition.
Richard reminded me that any church Jim and Judy Elway would want to book was likely spoken for. If we booked a place that would be impressive to their friends, all would be well. And of course, Richard was right.
Sneaky, beautiful man that he is, he had booked a room at The Grand 3 months before asking for my hand, knowing that he would. The cake was gorgeous: three tiers, lightest green, with white frosting and large blush colored flowers in spirals around it. The three tiered cake — each tier giant — was set on a bed of real (impossibly green) grass. The Grand was gorgeous, and the food perfect. We swam through the day.
Zoe was my maid of honor. Leigh, Ellie, and four other girls from my past made up my bridesmaids. Of Richard’s six groomsmen I met four for the first time.
I’d seen enough of Mom and Dad, my brother and sister. I connected with friends and family, scattered acro
ss countries and years. Now the day was over, and done. I had to get Richard alone.
Just four flights of stairs and into our room.
“Let’s go,” I say. “I think we can break for it.”
Richard shakes his head and gestures toward Leigh, walking toward me, holding Jenny’s hand.
“Liza!” she cries out, throwing her arms around me. “We wanted to say congratulations.”
“Congratulations,” Jenny says, shifting on her feet. She looks gorgeous in a periwinkle dress that hugs every curve she barely has. I feel a blush and a tingle, remembering the things that we did, back on my first day away from Richard.
We made small talk with Jenny for a few minutes — she and Richard had never met, though he had met Leigh a few times while planning the wedding — until Leigh caught my cues and realized I needed to consummate my marriage. She whispered something in Jenny’s ear. Her face brightened, almost blushed with realization, then Jenny killed her ramble and the two of them left.
“Have fun,” Leigh says, winking.
We look around, find our clear, and made it another three steps before Cooper appears from nowhere.
“Hey,” he says, looking first at me, then Richard. He extends his hand as he turns to my new husband. “I’m Cooper. Thanks for inviting me.”
“My pleasure,” Richard says. “Though I think it’s Liza who deserves the thank you. She was in charge of the guest list.”
Cooper shakes Richard’s hand, smiling. “Yeah, maybe so, but it takes a certain type of guy to be cool with exes at a wedding, you know? Seems worth a thank you.”
I love Cooper’s smile. He’s trying so hard. I want to laugh, tell him I’m proud of him, clap him on the back. Something.
Instead, I let Richard handle it. He says, “Nonsense. I have plenty of exes myself. Liza’s past is part of mine. I’ve heard many things, Cooper. It’s good to know you.”
Cooper looks surprised, then turns to me, still smiling. He seems almost jealous, in the sweetest way. He didn’t come with a date, and looked more mature than I’d ever seen him.
We say goodbye, and Richard takes my hand. “Now?”
For once, I think he’s as impatient as me.
I look around. Mark and Samantha are nowhere. My parents are drunk, talking to old friends at the back of the hall. Dad is over-animating his gestures. Ellie and Dean are making out in the corner.
“Let’s go,” I whisper, squeezing his hand.
Richard squeezes me back. We disappear from the reception, slip into the hallway, walk the long corridor, and slip into the elevator as it dings closed. We ride four floors until the doors ding back open, then, still holding hands and squeezing tight, cross the hall to our room.
We stand in front of the closed door, looking from it to each other, holding our stares and listening to our hearts as they pound.
The ceremony was a prelude: now we are husband and wife.
The Wedding Night
We’re finally alone.
I don’t know how you did it — I rarely do — but the room is ready, prepared as though moments before. There are strawberries, overly ripe and perfectly cut, fanned onto a small desert plate with dollops of cream in the middle, there is — of course — champagne in a bucket, and many candles burning. The room isn’t quite light, or dim, but it is perfect between us as I stand in the middle of our suite, staring up into the eyes of the man who is now my husband.
I try to count candles as Richard holds me in his arms. They’re dripping wax in a single file line from the door, through the room, up three small stairs and in a wide arcing cluster between the sofa and bed where we’ll make love for the first time in matrimony. I lose count at two dozen. I don’t care how many candles there are, I need something to quell my heart.
Richard crosses the room. Everything’s silent except for our breath and quickly beating hearts. His footsteps are heavy as we leave the carpet behind and he clomps onto the floor.
At the top of the stairs, beside the candles, he kisses me again, taking his time until he finally sets me down and stares, raking his eyes up my body from ankles to hairline and back, studying me like the prize I am. He brings my left hand to his mouth and brushes his lips against my ring. “Thanks for marrying me,” he says.
I smile back. “Thanks for asking.”
Time seems to still as we stand at the foot of the bed, our bodies pressed together, hands braided. I wonder if Richard will draw this out. He teases me with another fleeting kiss, brushing my lips before pulling away and stretching my want.
I try holding control as long as I can, then surrender.
I no longer care. I waited a lifetime to find Richard, then went on a journey to make sure we were perfect. I waited through three months to plan a wedding that would make everyone happy, when I would’ve been perfectly fine going to the courthouse. I waited through an entire endless day, the ceremony and reception: my family, friends, and past.
I’m not willing to wait any longer.
I kiss Richard harder, feeling him laugh between his lips. I yank his suit jacket down from his shoulders and throw it to the ground.
After Richard’s jacket, his tie, his shirt after that. I force myself to go slower, blooming anticipation as I slip buttons through holes, one at a time until his bright white shirt is open and flapping. I practically tear the shirt from his body and drop it on top of the jacket. I rub my hands all over his hot skin: strong arms, powerful shoulders, well-muscled chest and trim waist.
I love him so much, and can’t believe he’s mine forever.
Richard places his hands over mine and presses them to my body. He looks into my eyes, still smiling, teasing me with more kisses, reclaiming control, moving us back into a slower dance until he dips his finger between my lips.
I nibble his digit, knowing now things will start.
Except I feel playful instead. I push Richard away, laughing.
He grabs me, roughly but playing. I push him again.
He drops a finger down the top of my dress, into my barely there cleavage. I laugh, wag my finger, shake my head, and push him away. Richard laughs with me as he grows more insistent, pushing his pelvis against me.
I feel how hard he already is.
He kisses me again, and I sigh into his mouth. He lowers me onto the bed. I expect Richard to ravish me, but am not surprised when he doesn’t.
He falls to one knee by the foot of our bed and takes my hand. Kneeling, he looks into my eyes and says, “Thank you for marrying me, Elizabeth Elway. You’ve made me the luckiest man on the planet.”
“White. My name is Elizabeth White. I’ve earned it, so please don’t forget.”
Richard grins. I can see him thinking of some clever way to answer. I cut him off. “Fuck me,” I say.
I giggle as he laughs, more playful than usual, more playful than he’s been all morning, afternoon, evening, and the three months before now. He lifts my dress and disappears beneath it.
I cover my mouth, laughing.
I fall back on the bed, squirming as he works beneath my dress, parting the panties from my pussy and lightly licking me, not devouring me as he usually does — or always does when our waiting is stretched.
My head falls back and I cry out.
Finally, what I’ve been waiting for.
He adds two fingers inside me, sliding them in and out as he flicks his tongue on my clit.
He’s having fun — he’ll never be under a wedding dress again — so I let him play, even though every part of me needs more than his teases, needs this dress off my body.
Richard refuses to stop or slow, intent on his fun. The only thing I can, or should do is sink back, relax, and enjoy it. I close my eyes and wiggle on the bed, then lightly lift up, press my hands to the back of his head — still under the dress — and push down so his face wedges deeper between my folds and his tongue stabs me harder.
It must be stifling. He grunts with labored breath. I grab my dress and give him air. He pulls
his face from my pussy as I do. Richard looks up, smiles, shows me two fingers, then returns to my slit and slips them inside me, plunging to the knuckle as I moan.
Richard holds two fingers firmly in my hole, strong, steady and straight as he sucks the clit just above them. I have to turn away, because it’s too hot to look down, and I want more than he’s willing to give me. My garter feels hot on my skin. My lacy panties that will be worn only today — they go with the dress — are soaking. Richard’s fingers and mouth make me want to attack him. After the three months of waiting, I need him in a way that’s more desperate than not.
But Richard is a man who knows what he wants. What he wants now is to make me cum, before entry, using only lips, fingers and tongue.
He plunges until I cum. As I shake, he holds his fingers as I clench around them. “This isn’t fair, Richard,” I pant. “I need you to fuck me. We’re married now. I want married people sex.”
I laugh. He laughs with me, but doesn’t move his fingers, or start to fuck me.
He says, “This is married people sex,” then explores my pussy, still with his fingers, parting the lips and swirling my interior. I feel raw from cumming and waiting. My body hums like he wants me. Scents are strong in our beautiful room.
Why won’t he hurry?
I chew my bottom lip and wonder why I’m complaining. It isn’t as if Richard will give me less later for giving me more now. He’ll want me after I cum three or four or five times as much if not more than he does now. I should luxuriate in his control, patience, and devotion. I should know most other men would tear into me like they wanted — and like I wanted them to — rather than treating me with the tenderness I deserve.
Richard licks me into another orgasm. This one I welcome.
I push his head into me. He resists, wanting to lick me slowly. He sets the tip of his tongue near my asshole, then drags it in long lines up to my clit. He does this repeatedly, clearly loving the way I am shaking.
We find a rhythm together. He presses his lips into me. They tighten. Rather than licking or sucking, he nuzzles into me, lightly gobbling. I scream out, finish cumming, then reach down and grab him.
Engaged (The ABCs of Erotica) Page 14
