by Miranda Rush
“Family. People talking.” Ezekiel gawking . . . and no Nick there at all. In that moment Rebekah realized that she wanted Nick; she wanted to be his, impossible or not. She had to tell him how she felt. I love you. These were words, in the weeks of her engagement, which she never expected to say.
“Nick, I . . .I—” He cut her off with a kiss, slowly working his mouth around, on, into hers. Her lips melted under his slight pressure. He used his tongue to open her lips and allowed it to slide over hers. His hand moved once more to her breast, rubbing his palm back and forth on her nipple, to cause it to pucker and stand up. She closed her eyes, allowing the pleasure of his mouth and his hand to flow through her, awakening the desire between her legs. He lightly pinched her erect nipple through the cloth, causing the want to multiply and become heavier.
He reached over with both hands, removed her white bonnet and slowly took the pins out of her hair. She watched him as he unbraided her copper tresses, running his fingers through the wavy mass. Leaning over, he kissed it.
His kisses spread to her neck. He fumbled around with the folds of her dress for a moment before saying, “How do you open this?” A shock of apprehension blasted through her. He wants me to take my clothes off! She froze momentarily with shock, but only momentarily, for she then pictured Ezekiel’s hands pawing at her dress in the not too distant future. I want only you to touch me, not anyone else. It had to be wrong, to be alone like this with an English, a man not her husband. But it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels right. In fact, it felt the most right of anything Rebekah had ever felt.
Rebekah reached up and undid the safety pins from her shoulders, then her bodice, letting the dress fall around her waist, showing her full breasts under the thin white fabric of her camisole. Nick carefully removed her shoes and stockings and then, putting his arms around and under her, half lifted her and placed her lying on the bed. He lay on top of her, kissing her deeply, while his hand found its way up under her camisole. The contact of his hand on her bare breast started her heart to pound. He kissed her neck and shoulders and, pushing the camisole up above her breasts, enveloped her nipple with his mouth, sucking soft then harder, almost to the point of her crying out but not in pain. There seemed to be a direct line from her nipples to that place of heat, wetness, and growing, hungry want between her legs. As a child she had been at her uncle’s home in Nebraska where he had a metal works. She spent days watching him pour the white hot metal into molds and then pound it into shape. She felt that her body now was like that molten metal, the fire of it growing and spreading out from inside her.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Nick whispered.
She fairly whimpered. He grinned mischievously, and then standing up, removed her dress. Without any self-consciousness, he unzipped his jeans, letting them fall to the floor, and stepped out of them. She watched mutely, eyes large. It was in his underwear, poking forward away from his body. She noticed a wet spot near the point of the swelling. Oh my God! What happened to him? What’s happening to me? He lowered himself back down on her. Then taking her wrists and holding them above her head, he massaged It into her, rubbing her pubic bone up and down, causing the moisture in her to double, and something right under her triangle of reddish curls to tingle and quiver.
“Please!” she begged, not even knowing what she was asking for. That hungry want had become a voracious need.
“Okay! Okay!” Nick laughed, sucking on her nipples again briefly before sitting up beside her on the narrow bed and taking off her now sodden bloomers. Again, he looked at her in admiration. “You are so beautiful!” He breathed. He parted her legs, laying her open. She felt no shame. She could only tremble with fever.
He put his hand over the mound between her legs. “Oh, you are so gorgeous.” She blushed. He made her feel beautiful.
Then, with exacting delicacy, he began to draw with his finger around her folds, finding a slippery silky nub. Barely touching her, he worked it, worked her, stroking it up and down. Down one side and straight up the other. Down again and up the center. She moaned, the sound coming from deep within her. Every third stroke or so he would slip his finger lower to where her blood came out each month. He circled that orifice unhurriedly then returning his attention to the fold of silk which was growing thick and inflamed. Faster and faster came the strokes of his finger. The more he stroked, the more she wanted it, her legs starting to shake and hips rock up and down to the rhythm of his finger. A conflagration was building inside her. With one hand, he stroked the orifice around in ever quickening circles and with the other hand, continued stoking that now inflamed ridge. She felt like she was about to shatter. She moaned louder, a great guttural cry. She felt something rising in her swiftly, coming to take away all sanity and reason, threating to demonically possess her, to expose her; to set her free. Nick thrust two fingers of one hand deep inside her at the same time giving lightning fast strokes to her nub. And it happened, it seemed then, all at once. Feeling shot full of some burning eruption, she twisted, wailing loudly, her body shuddering violently.
Nick’s hand stroked her some more, producing further flares to shoot though her body. Eventually, she became too sensitive and had to push his hands away. The fold of silk twitched with a life of its own, causing further pleasurable sensations.
“Oh no, I’m not done with you yet.”
Starting at her knee, he kissed her inner thigh, licking and play biting, working his way up to where her legs met, but going no further, then going to the other leg and sucking deeply, he slowly, almost painfully slowly made his way up until he met that hollow where her thigh and pubis met. She had never explored her body before, and wasn’t aware this area existed. With shocking abruptness, his mouth put intense hot suction on this hollow, swirling his tongue around in a circle, sucking harder and biting again, then sucking softer but moving his mouth so that her feminine lip would slip into his mouth. She gasped, clutching the bedclothes. Grabbing her thighs, he dragged her to the end of the bed, taking the bedclothes in her grasp along. The next thing she felt was the paradise of his tongue, darting here and there, inside her somehow, and then working that silk he had found earlier.
She inhaled sharply, holding the top of his head while he loved her. Placing two fingers inside of her, he circled around her nub with his tongue and then, curling his fingers inside of her, he lashed it with his tongue faster and faster, while the pressure inside her increased.
It was almost too much. Again, the fire built hot and fast and strong, sending courses of flame through her, causing her to convulse, shrieking.
He held her, rocking her back and forth as she came down to rationalism.
But it was not over. He held within every fiber of him a searing tension. He fairly shook with it.
He rose back up to kiss her on the mouth and she steamed at the smell and taste of herself on his lips. Again, he half lifted her and placed her square on the bed again. The place where her bottom had been was sopping wet.
His eyes bore down into hers, deep hypnotic pools.
“Rebekah,” the sound of him saying her name made her heart soar. “Becca, I love you.”
He loves me! She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry with delight.
She stretched out to touch his hair as he stood over her. She had too, needed to say his name. “Nick, I love you, too.”
Then he stood straight, the protrusion in his underwear only bigger and wetter. He grasped the waistband, shoving the garment down and off.
Rebekah gaped. It was an immense swollen pink mushroom, long and incredibly thick, standing nearly straight up flush with his stomach surrounded by small dark curls. She extended her fingers to touch it, amazed by its silkiness, the brown ring around its middle and the miniscule hole at the top which was weeping clear fluid. He quaked at her touch. “You make me crazy.” It sounded like a wonderful thing when he said it like that.
“What is that?”
Smiling at her innocence, he said, “This is my cock.”
She giggled. A cock was a male chicken.
He laid on top of her again, touching fully skin to skin, moving as he had before, jutting his cock up against her pelvis, kissing her, fondling her breasts, building her excitement back up again to match his own. Spreading her legs, he took his erection and made circles around her opening, then up and down against her nodule.
“What are you doing?” She gasped, loving the feeling of his hardness against her softness,
“Playing with your clit. I want to make you come again.”
He rubbed faster and then put pressure against her opening with the head and backed away, then more pressure on it and eased off and again . . . and again. Soon, unbidden, Rebekah’s hips began moving to meet his pushes.
“I will try very hard to be gentle.”
She was confused only for a short moment. Poised at the orifice for just one short moment longer, he drove deep inside of her. She cried out—or was it a scream?— as her body arched, feeling shock waves deep in her belly and down her limbs. She clutched him tightly, kissing the side of his face, feeling the prickle of his beard against her lips, hot and moist.
His pushes became stronger, searching deeper and deeper into the core of her. Oh God, he’s going to tear me apart. But then, with each push, a well of pleasure that had been building in her overtook the pain, the pain then only serving to intensify the passion. Her hips tilted up to meet his thrusts as he embedded himself again and withdrew and again and withdrew, sliding in and out . . . in and out, over and over again. She not only felt his immense cock in her, she felt him within her, their spirits touching as their bodies moved, building within her a sense of rapture. His strokes became even more inflamed, dominating her fully. As she felt him grow even harder and larger within her, she wailed once more feeling wave after wave of ecstasy rise and crash within her, joining his cry—or was it a prayer—of “Oh my God!” She felt his cock violently pulse within her, his body jerking and crying out with each pulse.
He lay on top of her for a moment, not wanted to leave the warmth of her body, his face buried in the crook of her neck. “I love you,” was all he could whisper. “I love you.”
Her lips found his. “I love you so much.” She was astonished to find wetness on her checks.
Noticing her tears, he drew up on his elbows. “Oh, no Becca! I’m such an ass. Did I hurt you? I am so sorry. I tried to be gentle . . . I’m so sorry.”
First she shook her head, then said, “Yes, but no. I mean, yes, it hurt, but it was beautiful.”
Nick nodded, his eyes moist, too. “Yes, it was beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
She kissed him sweetly on his damp cheeks. “We’re beautiful.” She kissed him fully on the mouth, exploring his taste with her tongue and teeth. Experimentation became deeper and more and more surging kisses followed that seemed to last an eternity. She felt his cock stirring between them, once again fully engorged and rock-like. And she ached, not just from the loss of her virginity but from a rapidly consuming need. She wanted to feel him again and again. She did not think she could ever get enough.
“Becca, I want you again,” his voice was husky.
“I want you inside me.”
He reach down between her legs to run his fingers through her folds, up and down, up and down, teasing her nearly senseless. “You have the world’s sweetest pussy.” He bedeviled her, sticking his middle finger deep inside her and moving it this way and that.
“I want your cock inside me.”
“Tell me you want my cock in your pussy right now.”
“Nick,” she said, protesting his teasing. “I want your cock in my pussy right now.”
He pinched her clit. “Say please. I want your cock in my pussy right now, please.”
Mewling with building passion, she said, “I want your cock in my pussy right now, please.”
He broke out in a grin, “Yes, Ma’am!” He stroked her clit straight up the center, ending where she was the most sensitive. She never believed she could be so sensitive. “How do you want it?”
“Whaa?”
“How do you want it?”
She couldn’t think. Fortunately, she did not have to. “I want to feel you deep and hard inside me,” she confessed.
“I agree. I wasn’t nearly deep enough last time.” And with that, he stood on his knees and, grabbing her ankles, lifted her bottom off the bed. He hooked her heels upon his shoulders and gripping her hipbones tightly, guided his enlarged member into her, catching her deep inside once more. Withdraw . . . plunge . . . repeat.
All she could do was lie there and take it, feeling him fill her over and over again. As his stokes grew more and more powerful, she could feel the head of his cock hitting against something deep within her center. Again, the fierce pleasure surpassed the discomfort, the pain only serving to intensify the craving and the craving building into a frenzy where she heard a voice wailing, almost piteously, “Harder! Harder!” With a detached form of surprise, she realized the voice was hers.
Nick complied with her requests, driving farther and farther inside, faster and faster, with an almost religious fervor, abrading her clit with his thumb in rhythm to his strokes. It started out as a low pitched hum, turning into a shriek as again molten flesh exploded. She finished with a howl as he was ejaculating mightily deep within her, the near silent sound of his coming drowned out by hers.
***
As evening fell, she was loathe to leave him. However the real world was coming back to her. She had to return to the wedding before she was missed. She reluctantly dressed and was alarmed to see that she was bleeding.
“Oh, of course, this was your first time, I didn’t think—I mean I’ve never had . . .” Nick gave her his T-shirt to wipe herself off. “What do you use?”
“Use for what?”
“Your period.”
“My what?”
“Your menstrual cycle. You know, when you bleed each month.” He surveyed her ample breasts and the small tuft of reddish hair that hid her femininity as if to ascertain that yes, she was old enough to bleed.
“Oh, my monthlies. Yes, I have them.” She barely suppressed a smile. She had never discussed such things with a man, and rarely with a woman, other than her mother who told her what to do when she, terrified at the age of thirteen, found blood soaking her bloomers. “I put a rag in my underwear.”
“Do you have one with you?”
“No.” Her last period, as Nick called it, was nine days ago, thus she had no need to carry one.
“Here.” Nick picked a clean T-shirt out of his knapsack and using his penknife, cut and tore it in half. He handed one half to her. “Will this work?” She marveled. In her wildest imagination, she could not picture Ezekiel tearing his good shirt to give it to her to bleed on.
“Very good. Thank you.”
He drove her back to the wedding about the time dinner was being served. She got out of the van just before arriving at the groom’s house to walk up to the house alone. Nick objected to this as she was having difficulty walking easily but she insisted, “They can’t see us drive up together. Someone will know.” Someone. Ezekiel. Leave it to his swinish suspicions to figure it out. Rebekah had fully expected someone to have missed her for the six hours she was gone. Surprisingly, no one seemed to.
Nick did drive up and, as is customary among drivers for the Amish, fixed himself a plate of food, which he ate back in his van. This took only a few moments and then he drove away, Rebekah watching wistfully.
***
In a room with her sisters and two other women that night, Rebekah could not find sleep. The day’s momentous events kept gliding over her. She kept feeling Nick’s feverish thrusts deep into her belly. She replayed each moment of penetration and each moment of ecstasy. She wanted to sneak into his room and love him until the sun came up but the thin walls did little to filter out the snores from other rooms and would do nothing, she was certain, to muffle the noise of their lovemaking.
He sat up in bed, his naked body covered in dappled shadows. At the sight of her in her nightgown, he grinned and moved over, patting the bed beside him invitingly. She shook her head, beckoning with her hand. “Come with me.”
Obeying, he got out of bed, pulled on his jeans and shoes, and followed her down the stairs. If we get caught we’ll just say we’re on our way to the outhouse. She almost giggled at the thought. The mental picture of actually making love in the outhouse was so outrageous that she almost choked holding back her mirth. She led him outside the house, past the chicken coop and deep into the hayfield behind a five foot tall round bale of hay. For a moment, Rebekah’s hair on the back of her neck prickled as she had the queer feeling they were being watched. Looking around, she saw no one. No one was looking from the house. She chalked it up to nerves and decided it was part of the excitement of them being together, out in the hayfield alone.
She turned her attention back to Nick. He drew her white nightgown over her head and then removed her undergarments in a rush, uncovering the odor of their lovemaking earlier that day. He kissed her hard, biting her lower lip. Then he spun her around with her back toward him, while unzipping his pants and letting them drop down, pressing his erection against her bare backside. He was not wearing any underpants. She could feel his rigidness poking her insistently.
Holding her by her braid and one shoulder, he pushed her to her knees and then bent her over so that she was on all fours. She began to shake. What is he going to do? Letting go of her shoulder he knelt down behind her and rubbed his cock in the backside of her femininity. She inhaled sharply, opening her mouth to moan and he cut her short by smacking her backside. Stunned, she tried to look back at him, but he held her hair fast.
