“Or what? What will you do?” she asked teasingly, and then leaned forward and tried to gnash her teeth at me.
I tossed the clothing off the bed and jumped on it next to her. We wrestled a bit and I had her facing down, and I threw a leg over hers and kept her there. She still had on her stockings and the ankles-trapped stilettos she had worn for me, and now she was beating them ineffectually on the bed. I lay next to her, half on top of her, and rubbed my hands over her backside and her butt. “I think you know exactly what I plan to do to you!”
She began squirming around and I smacked her on the ass again. “Behave yourself!” I rubbed her ass and reached down between her asscheeks to finger her asshole, and then below, to feel the warmth and wetness where our mixed juices had seeped from her. “It will be so much worse for you if you struggle!”
“No, not that!”
“What I’m going to do, you will enjoy!” I could feel myself slowly coming back to life. As soon as I was stiff enough, I crawled on top of her and straddled her legs. I could sense Marilyn’s nervousness, and I smiled to myself. Then I sat upright and reached down, and guided my cock into her pussy!
I could feel Marilyn’s surprise, and she whipped her head around to see me as best she could. I just grinned at her. “I had you going there, didn’t I?”
“You are so mean! You are going to get that hickey yet!” she sputtered. I just slammed my cock up into her scummy cunt and she squealed. “Oh, God, don’t stop fucking me!”
I leaned down on top of her, luxuriating in the feel of her warm skin on mine, as I slowly rammed my cock into her. “When it’s time, I’ll have your ass, but not tonight. Now, make me come again, and really work it. I think this is going to be a good long fuck!” Marilyn began bucking her ass back at me.
I think I was enjoying this honeymoon even more than the last one!
Chapter 53: Married Life
So the rest of our honeymoon went pretty much like our first honeymoon, as well as all the other little ‘practice honeymoons’ we had taken up to that point. To be specific, we goofed off and screwed our brains out! We hit the beach in Bermuda, did a few tourist type things, ate too much, drank too much — all the things young honeymooners are supposed to do.
On most cruises, for instance to the Caribbean, every night you sail to a different island, so there is no way to see the night life on land. You miss the boat and you are screwed. On a trip to Bermuda, however, it’s different. Bermuda is all alone in the middle of the ocean, with nothing else around for about 600 miles or so. Once they park the boat, you just use it as a very expensive and very small hotel room. If you want to hit the nightclubs, feel free. The boat will still be at the dock at 0300. Thursday we sailed home, we had another formal night on Friday (I wore a suit, not the mess dress), and Saturday we docked.
The fun and games all came to a halt on Saturday. New York and the entire east coast was getting hit with intermittent thunderstorms from the moment we docked. It takes just as long to leave the boat as it does to get on. It was back to hurry up and wait, as we went through debarkation, customs, luggage retrieval, and getting a shuttle bus back to JFK. Then we had a three hour wait to fly to Fayetteville, and the plane had to circle the field for an hour while a storm swept through. Then the airline managed to lose our hanging bag, so we had to wait about an hour for them to realize this and start the paperwork to find it.
I didn’t know how much money it was going to take, but I swore then and there to make enough money to be able to afford limousines and chartered jets!
It was very late by the time we got into the Impala and drove to our apartment, which Marilyn had never been to before. Shortly after going through the first full round of the cycle, I had gotten myself a two bedroom apartment in a nice garden apartment area frequented by company grade officers. I could have afforded a house, but second lieutenants couldn’t afford houses, and I didn’t want to stand out. Second lieutenants can, barely, afford two bedroom apartments. If anybody asked, I would say that Marilyn’s family had money.
That was technically true. Big Bob was by most standards quite well off. On the other hand, Big Bob also had thirteen kids and never met a dollar he couldn’t spend. His company was notoriously cash poor and generally survived on accounting miracles. Ultimately he would sell it to most of his kids, spend the money, mortgage his remaining assets to the hilt, spend that money, and then die broke. I actually had to admire him — he managed to take it with him! He left nothing but about $150,000 in life insurance to the kids, split 13 ways.
As I started to park, I immediately stopped and put it into Reverse, and pulled back out on the road. “What’s wrong?” asked Marilyn.
“We need some groceries,” I told her. “I’ve been gone two weeks and I threw everything out before I left.” We found an all night Stop-N-Rob and grabbed some milk and eggs and bread and such, and then went home. I dutifully carried her across the threshold, and then went back and unloaded the car. By the time I was back inside, Marilyn was asleep on the couch. I helped her to bed, put away the groceries, and then went to bed myself.
Sunday we got back to normal. We slept late, stayed home, washed our laundry, and played house. Using the excuse that all of her clothing was in the laundry I had Marilyn wear one of my dress shirts and a pair of stilettos. I kept interrupting her work efforts with a different sort of work. That worked until mid-afternoon, at which point she had enough clean clothes that we could go out. I walked her around the apartment complex, and then we went out for dinner.
Monday it was time to get things back to normal. We got up, and I dressed in fatigues and jump boots, and I got Marilyn alive, so that by 0830 we were out of the apartment and on the way to the North Carolina Division of Motor Vehicles. Marilyn needed a new license, in her new name. She had her New York license and her birth certificate and our marriage license, but still needed to take the tests. After lunch we drove over to the base, and we went about getting her an ID card, so that she could go to the PX, or Post Exchange, sort of a shopping center on the base. It was a long day, but nowhere near as bad as Saturday coming home. Technically, I was no longer on leave, but Captain Harris was, by prior agreement, turning a blind eye to my absence for a couple of days. If your commander cooperated, you could often get someone to sign you in and out with a telephone call so that the thirty days annual leave we accumulated could stretch to cover six weeks, or even more if there was a legal holiday or two in the right place. I had used up my leave during the year, going back and forth to Utica to take care of the wedding, and now I was just over the line.
Tuesday afternoon Marilyn’s oldest brother Matthew showed up out of the blue, driving a panel truck with all of her remaining clothes and possessions, and some giant bags and boxes holding wedding presents. She had called her family Sunday morning, and we had been expecting them to ship her stuff FedEx or UPS. Before she left home, she had packed everything still there into boxes ready for shipping. Instead, they simply loaded everything into a truck and sent their truck driver son on a trip south. We unloaded the truck and Matthew spent the night with us, in the second bedroom, and then took off again Wednesday morning.
Wednesday it was back to the battery for me. Marilyn was sort of nervous about this, since we only had the Impala, and this would leave her stuck at the apartment. I told her we would get a car for her. I showed her in the Paraglide a variety of listings for used cars, as well as the weekend swap meet in a parking lot off base. I promised to pick up some cash during the week, and we would go car shopping on Saturday.