Relaxation
We head into the room marked with a big “4,” Jay just ahead of me. Once he gets the stubborn deadlock bolted closed, I start stripping down. Steam rises off the hot tub, though the jets are off, and the thin mattress has a fresh sheet.
Jay removes his shirt and I take a moment to gaze hungrily at his barrel chest and broad shoulders. Once I liked hairless boys, but when I met Jay, my tastes matured and I realized what I wanted was a man.
Still watching him, I climb into the hot tub. The water envelops me, welcomes me with its velvet warmth. I close my eyes and release my heavy thoughts with a sigh, slipping my hand between my legs to encourage the sensation of the jets. For now, it’s not Wednesday, it’s a sacred hour of heat and love.
The water shifts as Jay climbs in beside me. He settles in across the way, a jet against his back, and for the first time in weeks the lines on his face loosen. His eyes still closed, he smiles.
I slip my finger inside myself, but it is unsatisfying. What I want is my husband’s cock. I drift across the hot tub, reaching to grab his knees in my hands. Jay opens his eyes. "Hi, you.“
I almost draw back, so overwhelming is the love on his face. His hands reach for me, pull my face to his, but slows at the last second so when our lips touch, it is a spark, a tender remembrance of our first kiss. I am back on his bed, fluttering with nervousness, and he is pressing me down into the down comforter, his finger on the bottom of my chin, his lips perfect – not too moist, not too rough. Softer than light. Soft as love.
We kiss. Again. Jay slips his tongue between my lips. I rise up in the water, wrapping my legs around him so I straddle him on the bench. I grasp his hair in one hand and kiss him, left to right, my tongue slipping into his ear so he moans and tightens. I could be fourteen, alive with the possibilities of my body. This is the power Jay holds over me, awakening even the most reluctant vestiges of my sexuality.
His hands grasp my waist, one on each hip. He pulls me down into the water and I reach for him. I barely have to go below the surface of the water to find him. I slip him inside, and he pushes a relieved sigh out of me. "I need this,” I whisper into his ear, and he grabs my ass and uses the water to drive into me.
He holds me so tightly that I can barely move – not that I have to; my pussy is doing the work, alive of its own accord, clenching him with a fearsome desperation and need. He throws back his head and snarls out a laugh through his teeth, possessive and powerful. I shudder, melting into him. He fills me, raking my inner walls.
Suddenly Jay lifts me bodily and sets me on the side of the hot tub. He points wordlessly to the bed. I scramble out and slink across the distance between the tub and the mattress, then settle on my knees with my ass proffered off the edge of the bed. I hear the water splash as Jay gets out, too, and then his cock is back inside me, my void filled, my need satisfied. I grunt and woof like a dog in heat as he pulls me to him, his powerful legs propelling him into motions that slap my ass so hard I cry out.
He slaps me again, with his hand this time, and I come so hard I see spots in my vision. Even as I try to recover my breath, Jay shoves me in a 90-degree turn so he can climb onto the bed behind me. He presses my face down into the mattress and my pussy gushes with satisfaction. Rarely do I think about our labels, but now, my mind is consumed with it: I am your possession. I am your property. I am your lover.
This last, as he slaps my ass again and comes himself when my pussy clenches up. If he says something, if words materialize in the midst of bliss, I don’t recognize any but my name. "Amber.“ Just a soft, adoring whisper as he slumps over me. I slip down so we are parallel to the mattress, his weight comfortingly warming me.
Months of hardship, family squabbles, work crises…it all fades away, for a while.
"Thank you,” I whisper, and reach up to touch his stubbly cheek. "For everything.“
"There’s a pretty goddamn big list of reasons why I married you,” he says, a smile in his voice, “and that was one of them.”
Arranged
I didn’t ask for this. Didn’t ask for the cold, approving eyes of my father, or the fuzzy lines of my grieving mother. The podium yields under me, making my journey that much more difficult, as if offering me one last chance to choose disgrace and flee.
But I don’t. My groom awaits me, masked under the hot lights, and I rise to meet him. My peacock feathers spread behind me and catch the light, and I know I am glorious. I hope the guests can’t see the tears.
The fat priest awaits me impatiently, his big shoes tapping. I arrive and close my eyes. I can’t watch him as he speaks away the rest of my life. I don’t dare look at my betrothed.
Everything happens in a blur: the sacred vows, the mumbled permission from our mothers; someone yells out the traditional greeting, and my groom sweeps me down the stairs. He has still not removed his mask.
No one stops us for congratulations as he takes me into the consummation room. He sets me down gently on my feet and I stand, quivering, feeling naked already. I catch my breath as he puts his hand to the mask to reveal himself.
“Please,” I say, “leave it. I wish to learn to serve your body before I know your face.”
He tilts his head, and it has the effect of a curious bird, but he complies without a word. He reaches for the buttons on my dress and slowly undoes them, one by one. The consummation room, warmed by candles, still feels cold as I am bared.
When my dress falls to my feet, feathers and all, he offers me his back and the buttons on his suit. My fingers feel fat, clumsy, but I manage to disrobe him. His skin is a pale copper and I cannot stop my hands from lingering. He has muscles, but they are undefined, potential lying beneath soft, curly body hair. I wonder what he is thinking about my body.
He turns without warning and tosses me onto the bed – not roughly, but playfully. Then he is down on top of me, his ass in the air and his tongue tracing my inner thighs. He notes the wetness of my anticipation and, with a smile visible even under the mask, he backs off, kneeling on the floor to service me.
I cry out, from pleasure and fear. This is not how a purchased bride acts: she is the servant, not the princess. But he holds me down, firmly but not without kindness, until I come. Then he raises his head and watches me for a reaction.
“Please,” I say again, “please.”
He shimmies up the bed so we lie parallel. He gently turns me away, on my side, and feels between my legs, reaching with his cock until he finds me. I tremble, waiting for him to push in, but there is a long pause. His breath grows hotter on my neck, and I realize he has removed his mask.
“Hello, my bride,” a husky, gentle voice says, and we make love for the first time.