Paul’s out tonight and I am thinking back to our honeymoon, just a few weeks ago. Some of my readers have been asking me to write about the honeymoon sex, but most of it is really too intimate for me to write about. But I think I can write about the last night without giving away any secrets of the heart.
Regular readers know this, but I put in it every story because there are always a few who find me new with each telling. These stories are true, but I change the names of everyone but Paul and I. And the conversations are as I remember them, but probably I forget some of it, so it won’t be exact. But otherwise? True. Not so much because I want to be a great writer, but just because I found out I can’t write fiction worth a damn. If it hasn’t happened to me, I can’t describe it. Just a wiring diagram, I guess.
So….. it was the last day of our honeymoon. Early Saturday morning. We were in bed still, but the sun had been up a long time. The sheets were rumpled. I was rumpled and the room smelled like sex.
It had been a good honeymoon. Very tender and intimate. A lot of walks on the Gulf Coast beach. Seafood dinners with lots of wine. Long nights and languid mornings full of sex that ranged from crazy stuff to oh so tender. Paul, I remember, was nuzzled up to my neck. “This has been wonderful…” I said.
“But?” he answered.
“Look at me.”
I turned my head down and looked him in the eyes. Damn his soul. He an always see right through me. He always has since the very first night. “Now.” he said softly. “But?”
I took a deep breath. “But I do worry that marriage will change things for us.”
“Do you have to ask?”
He cracked a slight smile. “Of course not. But please don’t worry. I know your soul. You are mine and I will make sure you know it, and others know it when I share you with them. In fact, lets have a little preview tonight, shall we?”
“Tonight? On our honeymoon?” I was surprised.
“Why not. Time to get up and get dressed. We have some shopping to do.”
An hour later we were crossing the bridge into Tampa.
I quickly figured out that he had anticipated something like this because he drove like he knew where we were going and we ended up at a place called the Pink Petticoat. Elegant lingerie. Not your normal Victoria’s Secret lingerie, but designer lingerie. French and Italian lace. English corsets. Oriental robes. All in a vintage setting.
I was enamored the minute I walked in the door. I felt like I had entered a different world. A nice young woman met us and asked us what she could help us with. Without batting an eye, Paul said. “I am showing her off tonight and I want her in a corset and black lace stockings.”
I have to give the girl credit. She didn’t even flinch. “Right this way.”
Oh what fun it was, trying on such beautiful things. As we did, Paul said little, except a small comment here and there. “A little more cleavage” or “I like the way that hugs your waist”, or “The cut on that one shows off your ass well.” I warmed up to trying things on, realizing what he said. I was going to be shown off. Whether that meant privately or publicly, I had no idea, but I knew I’d be on display. I finally found a deep pink brocade corset that looked like something out of Moulon Rouge, and she helped me find a pair of lace thigh high stockings where the pattern nearly matched the lace on the corset. We spent nearly two hours there and I felt totally decadent. Paul, I could tell, was pleased. He tipped the young woman well and we left.
“Now,” he said. “I left something at home that I want tonight.”
I could not imagine what it was, but again, he drove surely to an adult “superstore”. Todds, I think it was. As hard as it might be to imagine, I had never been in a sex toy store before! I felt like a kid. I had never imagined there were so many different things. Paul took me to a “50 Shades of Grey” section and quickly found what he wanted. A simple black leather collar with a silver tag on it that said “slave”. “Now,” he said. “You can poke around and we can get anything you want.” I am almost embarrassed at every thing I bought, but the bill came to almost three hundred dollars and the collar had only cost thirty dollars or so. That should give you an idea. We’ll get to some of the toys in another story, I am sure, but for now, Paul had his slave collar.
Then it was lunch time.
After lunch, we were off shopping again. It took a while to find the right thing. Paul made it clear I was wearing the corset as a top, so I had to find a skirt to work with it. I did finally find a cocktail length skirt with some flare to it. I already had heels at the hotel. So we were done.
Or so I thought.
But no, first, he took me to a hairdresser on Davis Island. We had an appointment. I was understanding more and more that this night had been in the works for a while. I gave myself to it. “What are we doing today, sir?” the hairdresser asked. It was like I wasn’t even there. I felt my neck to see if the slave collar was already on, but it wasn’t. Somehow thought, the young man knew this was Paul’s show, not mine.
“I want her hair dyed.” Paul said. I gasped and he smiled. “A wash out dye. Just for tonight.”
“What color sir?”
Black? I’m a blonde. I’ve always been a blonde. When I got older and my hair began to darken, I made damn well sure I got to stay a blonde. I could not even imagine what I would look like. But I realized I was again, as I have always been since that first night with him, his. I nodded. “Black.” I said, as if it had been my idea.
There is something sensual about going to a good hairdresser. And I gave myself to it, trying hard not to freak out over the new color. I enjoyed the young man’s fingers as they washed my hair and then as he applied the deep conditioner and finally, they dye. I was stunned at how I looked. Totally different. Exotic, with my pale skin, blue eyes and this foreign hair.
“Almost done.” Paul said.
And another young person walked in. A woman. Mexican or Spanish. Paul spoke to her. “I want her to look almost trashy.” he said. “So someone seeing her for the first time can’t be sure if she is a tramp, a whore, or simply a classy woman with a touch more makeup than normal. The woman nodded. “Iike Sophia Loren in Boy on a Dolphin.” she said.
“1957.” Paul said. “That would be perfect.” I’ve never seen the movie, but Sophia Loren? I was feeling good about this. And it was incredible. When she was done, I do not think I would have recognized myself. I can do makeup and hair well, but this was art. I looked…. stunning. Exactly the way Paul told her I needed to look.
Then it was back to the room. A quick, cool shower so I would not mess up my new hair or makeup. Then I began to get dressed.
Paul cinched up the corset. He was right. Plenty of cleavage. Not too slutty, but just on the edge. “Leave off the panties.” he told me. Then the thigh highs. The skirt. And heels. I looked in the mirror. The transformation was amazing. Hell, I would have stared at myself as I walked in a restaurant. I knew I’d make an entrance. Paul smiled. He knew it too, and I loved the pleasure on his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the slave collar. “Put it on.” he said. I did, feeling suddenly, very vulnerable, and very owned.
We went to the same seafood restaurant we had eaten at the first night of our honeymoon, and we ended up with the same young waiter. The first night I had worn a pretty, modest white sundress, with very little makeup. The young man had noticed me and been very attentive, but I assumed it was because I was still glowing from the wedding, not because I looked particularly striking. But tonight, he could not keep his eyes off of me. Neither could others in the room. I could actually feel my nipples harden as I walked in, knowing I was for now, the center of attention in the dining room.
I have to admit, I love being stared at like that. Totally love it. I was a wallflower in high school and college, and it feels like some strange kind of revenge to be my age and suddenly desirable. “Your lust is showing, my love.” Paul whispered at one point in the dinner. I am sure it was.
The poor waiter was beside himself. He tried. I know he did, But load up a bodice with that much cleavage, have a lace up back with skin showing like I did, add the slave collar and the poor boy did not have a chance. His erection kept popping up in his black pants. Visibly. At one point, the boy asked Paul awkwardly “Weren’t you here earlier this week?”
“Yes.” said Paul, nodding to me. “With her.”
“She’s the same….”
Paul nodded. “She’s whatever I want her to be. She does whatever I want her to do.” The poor boy didn’t even know what to say to that, but I loved the sight of his erection poking at the front of his pants. Such fun!
It was a good evening. I saw Paul leave the waiter a tip, and he had a word with the boy before we left. The boy nodded, and took the tip. He looked nervous and thankful. As he walked back to the table, Paul reached into his sport coat pocket. I stopped breathing when I saw what he had.
A leash. He bent over, kissed me, and attached the leash. I kissed him back submissively, gently and stood up. Honestly, I think everyone in the room stared. I walked out, my head erect, my nipples hard, a slight dampness between my legs. I had been leashed before, but never in public. I knew this was not Richmond. No one knew us here, but still, something had changed in the dynamic between us. I felt more submissive than I ever have in my life, following beside him with that leash draping from my neck to his hand. And what was scary and exciting, was that I knew deep down, that I liked it.
We where back to the room in about twenty minutes. We walked through the parking lot, then through the lobby with the leash falling over my shoulder to his hand. The hotel clerk stared. The older couple in the lobby stared. We took the elevator up and went to the room, where Paul had left champagne on ice.
He let go of the leash, but did not unhook it as he walked over and popped the cork, then poured himself a glass. He handed me the bottle. “Bottoms up.” he said. I lifted the bottle and drank it all down. Fast. It was suddenly warm in the room. I felt the champagne rushing to my head. He took the leash again and led me to the balcony.
He sat down and I stood in front of him. He reached over and unzipped the skirt. It fell to the floor. I could see my pale white skin at the bottom of my corset in the moonlight. His fingers traced my belly. “Come.” he said. “Sit on my lap.” I sat. The leash hung over my shoulder to the front. I could feel Paul’s hardness against my ass. “Play with yourself.” he commanded in a soft strong voice.
“Shhhhh. Do it.” he said.
My fingers reached down. I was wet. I was already swollen with desire. “Do it.” he said
I began to rub myself. I whimpered. I know I did. I had been exposed all night and I felt helpless and excited. My fingers, each touch, were like fire. My hips began to move.
“That’s good.” Paul said. “I like it when you make yourself come for me.”
“Paul….” I whimpered.
“Shhhhh. Do it.” he said again. “You know our waiter?”
“How badly do you think he wanted you.”
“Crazy bad is right. You know he claims to have a ten inch cock?”
“Oh my God.”
“You’ve never had one that large, have you?”
I was panting now. So close to coming. “No.” I said
Paul began to unlace the back of the corset. “Did you know you got him so excited tonight he had to slip to the bathroom and jerk off in a stall?”
Still panting. So close. “No!” I whispered.
“I saw you looking.” The corset was loose now, his unlacing nearly done.
“It was big.”
“It was big,” Paul whispered, leaning forward and kissing my neck, his hands suddenly cupping my breasts…. “for you.”
That was it. I was remembering the biggest one I had seen in my life, and this boy claimed to have one bigger and in the imagining, I went over the edge. I cried out, not caring that I could be heard, lost in my orgasm. My head spinning from the champagne. How long does an orgasm last? Seconds? This felt like minutes. It felt endless. At the end, I slumped against Paul, gasping for breath.
“By the way.” Paul said, in a normal voice. “Look over the railing.”
I looked and there out in the sand, was our waiter. He was dressed, but his cock was out of his pants. You can’t measure at that distance, but it was clearly huge. He waved.
“He can see us?
“He can see our silhouette. from the light behind the curtain. And of course… he heard us.”
“Paul… Is he…..”
“Not tonight, But if you can make him come by pleasing me, I might bring you down for him the next trip.”
I’d have wanted to please Paul anyway after that night, but this was added incentive. I stood up. The corset fell off me and I was aware of how I must look against the light. I stretched, lifting my arms above my head, making sure my breast stood out. I wondered if he could see my hard pink nipples. Paul still held my leash. I knelt down between his legs and unzipped his pants. I pulled his cock out from his briefs. I could see it swollen in the moonlight. I knew he was as excited as I had been.
I licked the head, which was wet with precum. Lots of it. I licked. I kissed it. I took it shallow and I took it deep. I felt his hips begin to move when my fingernails cupped his balls, then began to caress them with my nails. I knew the young man was watching and I tried to put on a show in the light and shadows. Paul’s hips began to move faster. Still holding the leash, his other hand drifted to the back of my head and held it close to him. He was in control now. It was not my blowjob, but him fucking me with a steady rhythm, each thrust causing a low grunt until finally, he came.
And I heard a moan from the beach as well. I know that sound. Our waiter had come too.
When Paul caught his breath, he said “It looks like we’ll be visiting again.”
He stood up and led my by the leash into our room. For just a moment, I am sure our waiter got a glimpse of me from behind, dressed in just my stockings and heels. Paul led me to bed, I kicked off my heels and undressed him. We crawled in and slept. It was a perfect way to finish our honeymoon. The next day I showered and the black dye washed right out. I was a blonde again. But I had enjoyed my night as a brunette. I think, when we come back, I’d like to be a brunette again.