I wanted to write a quick story about that first night with your husband after a whirlwind marriage ceremony, the reception, dancing, eating cake, alcohol consumed but not too much with an eye to later. In this case, you’ve remained chaste to your new husband. A little heavy petting, a little oral, but never letting yourself go. You’ve saved yourself for the love of your life and your wedding night.
Here’s a little story that enters the mind of a new bride who has denied going that extra way for her fiancé. Saving herself for her wedding night. And then finding the joys of sex and becomes unbridled, surprising herself and her lucky new husband.
This is short (~9K words) and hopefully sweet.
Please enjoy,
Love,
Lana Ocean
Canada
My name was Emma Mary Fiore Amato. Now I proudly carry my husband’s name: Emma May Fiore Williams. My brand new, gorgeous, and sexy husband is Daniel Christopher Williams. He’s African American and I am Italian American.
We met in the University of California San Diego (UCSD) as freshmen. We dated despite my reservations of dating a black man. I was not a fan of unwanted attention and being seen with him at school and downtown caused eyes to stare. The United States is rampant with racism. It’s everywhere and palatable and real in every sense. It vibrates across social norms and in the media and sometimes openly on the street.
But I was attracted to Daniel right away. We shared a class together and the first time I walked into the classroom, and I saw him, my heart had skipped a beat. He had felt the same way. It wasn’t until a month later that he summoned the nerve to ask me out. We went to a dinner down at Liberty Station and then walked the boardwalk past where the San Salvador replica galleon was being made and along the inner harbour.
It was a lovely first date. Afterward, he kissed me outside my dormitory, and I kissed him back and told him I would like to go out again. He was so pleased.
Daniel is gorgeous. He’s my height but very slim. He keeps his hair short and has a short-cropped beard. He wears black rimmed glasses. He does a little gym and a little cardio. Not a lot, but just enough to keep him fit. He’s strong. His ass is golden.
I was first attracted to his eyes. His glasses have a way of making them larger than life and they pulled me in. His dark skin enhancing the white of his eyes and his lovely teeth past his full lips. That first kiss outside my dorm had melted me.
On our second date I admitted I was a devout Catholic, being a proper Italian American girl. Sex was not allowed outside the marital chamber. I could tell he was devastated. We could both feel the attraction to one another. A look from him would get me all tingly. I was a regular at the confessional at my church, admitting my sin and lust. I would accept my penance and say my prayers kneeling at a pew, gazing with adoration to the figure of Christ above the altar, counting my prayers on my rosary.
Throughout our years at UCSD we were never apart. Our love life was constrained to kissing throughout our freshman year, to a little petting during our sophomore and junior years, and as seniors we had performed oral sex on each other a couple of times. My penance for that consisted of working at various soup kitchens in the Gaslamp District of San Diego. Daniel joined me and I think I truly fell in love with him when he did. He shared my penance and I rejoiced.
My parents were shocked when I had introduced Danial to them. They aren’t racist, but they had hoped I would meet someone “more like me”, my mother had said. But it was too late for me. I adored Daniel and together we were wonderful. In time, they accepted our relationship. It helped that Daniel was so well spoken and so intelligent. They could see the good in him and although he was Baptist by his christening, he believed in God and that was enough for my parents to accept him.
It was so hard not to cave into our sexual desires. We wanted each other so terribly badly. But I was a good Catholic girl and took my faith very seriously. Daniel understood and somehow, he stayed with me throughout college. Our friends always tried to pressure us. My girlfriends thought I was archaic; disillusioned about values they said no longer applied in the modern world. His friends were no better, urging him to leave me for “someone better”. By the end of college, we had few friends, but by that point in our relationship, I only needed Daniel and he only needed me.
We decided to wait until our careers started before we took things any further with our relationship. He started work at an architectural firm in San Diego, and I accepted an accounting position out in Coronado. One year later he proposed to me. My heart soared on that day, and I will never forget it. It had been magical and perfect, and I accepted right away, and he spun me around.
My parents had known. Daniel has asked them for my hand in marriage and they had happily agreed. We set a date for end summer, and I dove into planning and preparations. My only remaining girlfriend, a friend from church, became my bridesmaid and helped with everything.
The wedding was beautiful. Standing before my future husband in front of God and my family and friends and making my vows was the most beautiful thing I had ever done. He looked so gorgeous in his tuxedo. I never loved him more. We said our vows, exchanged rings, and then he kissed me in front of everybody. Claiming me as his bride and wife.
I felt liberated. He was now my husband. Everything we had always wanted to do for the past five years were now open to us. We could consummate our marriage and love. Over and over again. I walked back down the aisle, a woman and a wife, and my pussy couldn’t have been wetter. Lust ran over me in waves and I gripped Daniel’s hand so tightly.
The rest of the day and evening went by in a blur. I had to watch the video later to see just how much of a good time we had. But mostly I watched how Daniel and I looked at each other. Everyone said we looked with such love at each other. In truth, we were looking at each other with unbridled lust.
Then, thankfully, we exited the reception to cheering family and friends and entered the limo my father had provided, and we were whisked away to our hotel. In the morning, we were heading to Hawai’i for our honeymoon. But tonight. Tonight, I would become my man’s woman. He would take me and complete me.
I don’t recall checking in, or the elevator ride to our suite, or Daniel carrying me in his arms across the threshold to our suite. What I remember is tearing off our clothes and collapsing on the large California King bed. Later, I would peel rose petals off my flesh and Daniel’s.
I was a good Catholic girl. I had followed my faith, confessed my sins, and did my penance. But now? Now I was married and in the eyes of God, I would and could pleasure my husband. I knew the scripture. My chains were removed.
“Wives, be subject to your husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, and is himself its Saviour. As the church is subject to Christ, so let wives also be subject in everything to their husbands.” (Eph. 5:22–24).
* * *
My mother had given me advice the day before the wedding. She said it was a long tradition and I would do the same for my daughter one day. She had held my hands and spoke to me as one wife to her daughter bride. She passed on to me the secrets of a happy marriage that the priest had never mentioned during our marriage preparation classes at the church. She spoke openly of things I would need to learn to do. And often, she had said. And willingly. Her attention to detail was unnerving to me but I listened to everything. Some things she said were frightening, sounding foul, but my mother laughed and told me to wait and see.
“Your father loves me just as much as the day we married, Emma,” she said, holding my hands and looking into my eyes. “Every day I let him know I need him and want him. To be intimate with him and he does the same for me. Marriages fail when that stops. There will be times you don’t feel the need or desire. You must fight that. Embrace him. Kiss him. Fondle him. Whisper in his ear that he is your everything and his will is yours to fulfil. Do you understand?”
I nodded, biting my lip. I think I understood. My mother laughed at my expression.
“Wake him with your mouth in the morning. Not every day. But some days or it will become routine. Pleasure him. Take his seed inside you. Swallow his love. It can be daunting. You’ll get used to it. He is your man, and his seed will be yours. Claim it. Only you can receive it through your marriage. Don’t make him regret choosing you over all others.
“And seek your own pleasure. You should never regret choosing him. He should willingly pleasure you with his mouth. Accept it and bask in it. It is your husband claiming what is his by marriage. Your womanhood will pleasure him. So trim down there, okay? Did your bridesmaid take you to the salon?”
I nodded, feeling heat rush to my face. I had been waxed. It had hurt so badly, but I had found pleasure in it in a small way which frightened me. I nodded at my mother.
“Good. And all the way between your legs?”
I nodded again, feeling more heat.
“Do you know what sodomy is?”
I nodded feeling horror.
“My priest told me before I was married that sodomy is a sin between men,” said my mother, looking hard at me.
“Yes, mamma.”
“And he added it does not concern marital relations between man and wife.”
“Mamma!” I said in shock. I thought of her and dad. “Did you and poppa…?”
“Oh, yes, Emma. Otherwise, you would have a lot more siblings rather than just you.”
“What?”
“You’ll need to watch your cycle. Avoid pregnancies. Anal sex is the best way to do that when you are ovulating.”
I stared at my mother. Questions raced through my thoughts faster than I could fully formulate and finish them.
“I enjoy it, Emma. Pleasuring your father gives me pleasure. Be patient. Try it for yourself. Push past the initial pain and I think you will be surprised. Do this for your husband. For you.”