John Wilson
The timid bride
CHAPTER ONE
"What is it? What is it?" cried Cindy Hanger excitedly as her husband climbed into his car in the driveway.
"It's a surprise," he said. "Not to be opened until I turn the corner. It has to do with what we spoke about last night…" And with that, shut the door to his car.
"I can't wait," she cried, shaking the brown parcel from side to side. "What's in it?"
The car pulled back and out of the driveway. Cindy waved from the front porch as she watched the red tail lamps disappear up the street in the early morning fog that enveloped Dover City that damp February Tuesday. "Goodbye, darling," she cried after her- new husband.
"Goodbye… goodbye… goodbye…" she murmured on her way off the porch and back inside the small but cozy two-storey house into which she and her new husband had moved the month before. Why be so dramatic? After all, he's going to be back this afternoon… He's only going to work… She stopped in front of the hallway mirror and shook the shoe-box sized package which she held in both hands. Then she glanced at herself instead of the package.
The silky blue house coat suited her well, giving her pink-white baby skin a radiant glow. She had a porcelain complexion, and even without the benefit of morning makeup, her cheeks were a rosy hue of crimson on a background of snow white. Her thick, mauve lips outlined a large, pretty clown red mouth, and her long, slender jaw line, rising upwards on her proud, big-eyed face, was undeniably sexy. She gave herself a saucy enough smile, and then her eyes caressed tenderly downwards in the silver glass, accepting the voluptuous shape that hid there in front of her under the simple blue housecoat.
"My! Oh my! I certainly am the vain one this morning!" she told herself with a sharp smile full of bright white teeth. She shook a finger at herself, saying softly, "Tetch, tetch…"
Cindy Hanger pulled away from the mirror the way a piece of metal comes undone from a magnet, quickly and with a kind of attraction still holding her to it, as if she were breaking free of some indomitable force. In the living room, she sank into the overstuffed downy soft sofa on the arm of which still rested her morning coffee.
"Now," she said aloud, taking a sip of the tepid light brown mixture of cream, coffee, and sugar, "let's see what we shall see!"
She shook the package which she'd rested in her lap from side to side. There was a slight bumping sensation, as if something solid on the inside bounced around between the sides of the box. She thought about what Larry had said: "It has to do with what we spoke about last night…"
Whatever could he mean? We spoke about so many things..! She began unwrapping the brown paper and soon revealed that it was indeed a shoebox. Shoes? We didn't speak about shoes… We were going to bed… and we talked about books and… and about sex… and-Just then she pulled the lid off the box and saw that it contained, among other things, a note from her new husband, a sheath of rolled magazines, and an unmarked jar of some sort of paste or grease. Also, there was a plain white second box, rectangular and heavy, in the center of the wrapped magazines.
First she read the note:
Darling, I'm quite sure that you'll be shocked and a little hurt perhaps that I've gone so far as to get you these things. But my inclinations usually turn out to be right. Don't be mad at me. Try these things out at your leisure. We don't even have to talk about them if you don't want to. I just have an idea that you might enjoy yourself a little more, that's all. And if you enjoy yourself a little more, then so will I. It's a long life that we intend to live together, and the better we are at some of the basics, the better we'll be at everything else…
All my love,
Larry
Even before the magazines unfolded in her hands, blossoming like some rare breed of exotically blooming flower, Cindy Hanger's childlike face filled with a bright red blush. There were three folios, the first of which displayed on the front cover a colorful slick photo of a young woman holding her breasts, pointing them upwards, her mouth aiming downwards, her tongue extended trying to reach the excited, reddened tips of her own nipples.
"Gawd!" shrieked Cindy, averting her eyes and looking away from the, cover of the magazine which she held in her hands. It was as if she expected to be punished at that very minute, just for looking at the cover of the magazine.
She looked around the living room and then back at the second magazine. On the cover of that one a young black man stood nakedly at the side of a pretty, older white woman, his cock rubbing against the white woman's thighs. "Sheeze," groaned Cindy, trying not to look at the distended, blood engorged bluish cap of the black man's penis as she quickly shuffled the magazines, "what does Larry think he's trying to get me to do!?! These are awful… obscene… disgusting…!"
And then she sneaked a look at the last magazine cover, and before she could close her eyes on that one, her brain had registered the debauching pose of a man approaching a young girl from the rear, his cock stiff as a fence post, the head of it thick and swollen with arousal, and the girl's rear-end vulnerable as a piece of freshly cracked-open fruit! "Oh, Gawd, damn, Larry…" she hissed aloud, offended that he would even think of her in such terms. "This is awful!"
She set the magazines, the shoe-box and the other things it contained aside and sat for a moment fuming, nervously sipping her coffee, trying to keep from thinking about what her husband intended her to do with such magazines as these. She drew a deep breath and tried to relax. Then her curiosity got the best of her and she picked up the rectangular box which had been inside the rolled magazines.
It was a plain unmarked tubular affair, and it seemed to contain something heavy and solid. She undid one end of the box and pulled out the big, strangely shaped plastic thing which was inside. It looked to Cindy Hanger's innocent untrained eyes like a water pic. "What on earth…" she hissed at the thing, and discovering a button at the back of the handled bullet-shaped apparatus, flicked it on. It shook in her hand, softly whirring. Then it dawned on the young wife what she held in her palm.
"Oh, Gawd… Lar-ry!" she hissed at the thing and turned it off. One quick glance at the jar of paste and she understood that it was clearly some sort of new-f angled lubricant… and she also understood that he'd purchased all of these things in order to get her to "loosen up", as he'd put it the previous night, in order to get her to think differently about things having to do with SEX.
She quickly gathered the magazines, the note, the vibrator and the lubricant back into the shoe box. She stuffed the wrapper into the box, too, and tried to deny to herself as she headed upstairs with the opened parcel that she'd been in any way excited by the color photos or by the idea of having and owning her own plastic, battery-operated power dildo. It was, as far as she was concerned-all of this either here nor there. Sex was for when one made love, not for pleasure, and no matter how lewd a display Larry tried to make with the pictures and the tools, she would not be the kind of young housewife who toyed and played with her own body and flesh as if it were just so much clay for fun!
Not me!
Never!
Yet even as she put away the box, sliding it with her tiny white foot under the big unmade double bed, she had a kind of inkling that this would not be the last time she'd be in touch with the box that contained her new husband's strange gift.
"I'll make the bed later," she hissed on her way from the bedroom, flicking off the lights. "Boy, does he have a lot of nerve!" Trying to stay angry, she slammed the door behind her.
But later in the day, standing in front of the kitchen sink wearing only a pair of cotton white shorts and a blouse, her otherwise naked thighs were coated with goose bumps as she attempted to put out of her mind flashes of the color photos from the magazines. It was everything she could do to finish the dishes before dashing upstairs, pulling out the shoe box of goodies, and sitting thumbing through the pages of the forbidden folios.