Delicious Dream

I woke up on the morning of July 4 from a deliciously horny dream, only
to find that it wasn’t a dream. I was flat on my back, on the verge of
an orgasm, and my cock stood stiffly between my legs while my new wife
gently nibbled on it and teased it with her tongue. Her long hair fell
over her head and tickled my stomach, and it wasn’t hard for me to set
aside my misgivings about oral sex and enjoy what she was doing.

My hips had been gently pumping when I woke up, and I reached down to run
my fingers through her hair as I continued to thrust my cock at her
mouth. I was ready to come, but she just teased me, keeping me on the
edge without letting me come. My excitement was on the edge of turning
to pain when she stopped teasing.

She slid her mouth down over my cock, working it with her tongue as she
slid down, then gently blowing as she slid back up. I was ready to
explode, but she managed to do it again three times, each time sliding
farther down the shaft of my cock before she came back up.

When I came, it was like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and it was a
while before I could do more than just lie there on my back and look at
my wife’s head resting between my legs. She continued to suck gently on
my cock as it shrank, and she only let go when I asked her to.

“Good morning Anne,” I said. “That was nice, but I’ve got to pee, can I
have my cock back?”

She let go of it and sat up, kneeling straddling my legs. “Good morning
my new hubby. I hope you slept as well as I did.”

“I slept well,” I said, looking at her and at the amazing collection of
rings she wore through her body. She’d explained the 23 rings she wore
in each ear the day we met, but she’d managed to keep the ring she wore
in each tit and the six additional rings she wore in her cunt a secret
until yesterday when she surprised me by accepting my offer of marriage.

I knew she had far more experience with sex than I had; she’d had a ring
put in for each man she and her old roommate had seduced together. She
hadn’t seduced me though; before yesterday, we hadn’t as much as kissed.
I’d been asking her to marry me almost daily for months; it had started
as a joke when we were attending a survivors of AIDS support group, but
I’d grown serious as time passed. I’d almost given up, though, when she
surprised me by accepted my offer.

That was yesterday, July 3, and she’d shocked me by hauling me straight
to the courthouse, taking out a marriage license, and finding a judge to
marry us on the spot. I’d found out about all her rings within an hour
of that.

“Do you always wake up your men that way?” I asked as I sat up.

“I try,” she said, then giggled. “A couple years ago, Janet and I tried
seeing how long we could go on a diet of nothing but semin. It’s pretty
nutritional, you know, but we gave up after a week.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I got up and went to the toilet to
pee. Anne’s loft, now our loft, had no walls, the toilet was in a back
corner, along with a sink, tub, and bidet. They were expensive looking
fixtures; their matching red enamel contrasted elegantly with the white
plaster walls and hardwood floor, but the idea of peeing while my new
wife watched bothered me, and she did nothing to help. She stood at the
sink and combed her hair while she watched.

She kept me at least part-way off balance for the rest of the day, but in
the end, that only added to the fun. She wouldn’t let me get dressed
after breakfast, saying that she never bothered to wear anything around
the house. She told me that as long as I was living with her, I’d have
to get used to it.

When I suggested that she call her old roommate Janet and tell about our
wedding, she did, but after a few minutes on the phone, she surprised me
by handing me the phone. I knew that she and Janet were more than ex
roommates. They’d been lovers and they’d been partners in love with many
men; as a result, I wasn’t quite sure what I should say to Janet.

She certainly didn’t share my unease. I said hello, then asked how she
was. As the words came out, I could have kicked myself. I knew she had
AIDS, and I felt like a cad as I realized how awful it was to ask such a
question to someone who was terminally ill. She answered politely that
she was doing about as well as could be expected, given her situation,
then got down to business.

“Anne told me lots about you over the past six months,” she said. “It’s
hard as hell for me to imagine her getting married, but after I got AIDS
I guess we’ve both changed alot.”

I wasn’t sure what she was getting at. I knew that she’d come down with
AIDS six month’s ago, and I knew that Anne must have been exposed to it
at the time Janet caught it, since they’d made a game of openly sharing
all of their sexual partners.

While Janet talked, I watched Anne walk over to her workbench and begin
doing something. She was pretty to watch from behind as she opened a box
on the bench and began looking through its contents.

“Look,” she said. “What I’m getting at is this. I still love Anne, and
now that I can’t make love to her and with her any more, I want to make
damn sure she has fun. Tell her to quit this new puritan thing, she can
stick to one man for sex, but that doesn’t mean she has to dress like a
nun. Tell her to dress right, go out, have fun. Give her the love she
needs,” she paused. “Want to know what really turns her on?”

“Tell me,” I said.

“Oral sex, eat her, bring her to the edge and keep her there. I’ve kept
her on the edge for hours, not letting her come until the very end. Do
it to her, if it grosses you out, do it for me, please?”

“OK,” I said, more out of politeness than commitment, and then she hung
up. I didn’t have time to think about what Janet had asked me to do
because at that point, Anne turned back to me from her workbench.

I’d been idly watching Anne’s back while I was on the phone, but I hadn’t
really paid any attention to what she was doing. When she turned around
after I hung up, I couldn’t ignore what she’d done. Anne was a jewelry
designer, and now she was showing me some of her work.

“What?” I said, looking at her. She had a large gold ring in her nose,
big enough to frame her mouth, she had a gold stud in the center of her
upper lip, additional rings in her tits, and something shiny filling her
belly button. More jewelry hung between her legs, and there were even a
couple of rings through the webs between her fingers.

As she posed for me, I realized that I’d noticed some of her piercings
before, but I’d misinterpreted them. I’d assumed that the hole in her
lip was a pimple scar, never imagining that it went all the way through.

“You should see yourself,” she said, chuckling. “I guess I owe you an
explanation, though. Most of my jewelry is sold through what they call
alternate jewelry stores; some is very sexual, and most of it is intended
to be worn in very unconventional places.

As she spoke, I saw a flash from her mouth. “What’s in your mouth?”

She smiled, clearly exposing a silver bead set in her tongue. “My tongue
tack started as more of a technical experiment than a serious piece of
jewelry, I wanted to see if I could make something I could wear in the
most sensitive part of my body without problems, and I did; like it?”

“Yes,” I said, somewhat surprised.

“Tell me if any of this other stuff grosses you out,” she said, and then
began a guided tour. I think that if she hadn’t started my day with an
orgasm, I’d have wanted sex on the spot when she showed me the ring she
wore through a hole in her clit. A small gold ball hung by a short chain
from the ring, and she said it had only one use, and that was to
intensify the sensations of lovemaking.

“You’ve got kinkier tastes than I credited you for,” she said when she
was done.

I shook my head. “I’ve got kinkier tastes than I credited me for! Do
you really intend to go out in public wearing all that stuff?”

She chucklied. “I have in the past, but I’ll tone it down until you’re
ready to play at shocking the teaming millions. Come on, let’s get
dressed so we can visit your place, but do me a big favor, don’t wear
underpants, they just get in the way.”

She’d told me that she never wore underwear, and with the rings in her
tits and cunt, I could see why; even so, I felt awkward about the idea of
my going without. The mention of getting dressed reminded me of what
Janet had said, though, so I passed on her advice. “Janet said I should
tell you to dress right from now on. No more new puritan stuff.”

She’d told me that before Janet came down with AIDS, the two of them had
made a point of dressing to attract men, but it was another thing to see
what she meant. She looked through her dresser while I hesitated about
putting on my pants without underwear, then turned so I could see as she
slid into a tight white spandex miniskirt. It was hardly long enough to
cover her fanny, and when she knelt to put her sandals on, I could see a
sparkle below the hemline as the rings in her cunt came into view.

She ended up putting on a loose white camisole top over the skirt, and I
had to agree that she looked very sexy. I was surprised that she didn’t
look outright tacky; most explicitly sexy clothing I’ve seen is pretty
awful. I told her that I felt awkward about what her clothing exposed
when she did anything but stand upright, and her effort at reassuring me
wasn’t very reassuring.

“I know exactly what my clothing lets people see,” she said. “They see
what I want them to see.”

Our day turned practical for a while, giving me a bit of a chance to get
used to my new situation. We had to decide where to live now that we
were married. After she’d taken off all the odd jewelry that showed when
she was dressed, I took her over to my apartment. I’d never been to her
place before our wedding day, and this was her first visit to my place.

“Not bad,” she said, looking over my paperback collection.

She paused, looking critically at an Escher print hanging on my wall, and
I noticed that she was gently rocking her hips. The motion was odd,
almost what I’d expect if she were making love.

“Why are you bobbing your hips like that?” I asked.

She turned to me with a sly smile. “I’m masturbating,” she said.

I began to get hard, even though I was confused. “What?”

“Bouncing my clit chain against my skirt,” she said. “It feels good,
good enough that I can usually bring myself to orgasm that way if I keep
it up. Want to make love?”

“OK,” I said. I was already rock hard as I led her to my bedroom.

She was out of her clothes before I’d unzipped my pants, and she didn’t
seem to need any foreplay. As soon as I pulled off my jeans and sat down
on the bed, she sat in my lap and and took me into herself. I leaned
back on my bed, startled, and looked up at her in awe.

“Here,” she said, looking down at me with a blissful look on her face and
fingering the chain that emerged from between us. “Play with this,
gently.”

I touched the fine chain tentatively, and then gently tugged on the bead
at the free end. The other end was attached to her clit, and if the
bounce of the chain against her skirt was enough, I was pretty sure that
I wouldn’t have to play very hard.

“Good,” she breathed, and then began to sway as she sat on my hips. “I
like that.”

I scratched my fingernail along the chain, and she looked ecstatic. I
could feel her vagina clamping on my cock. I was fascinated by her
reaction. I knew that women had clits, but I’d never had such direct
access to a woman’s clit while I was making love. The look on her face
was something I’d never seen before, and then she moaned, quietly and
deep in her throat.

She lifted her hands and began fingering the rings in her breasts, and
then moaned again. I’d been so fascinated by her reaction that I’d been
ignoring the waves of contractions in her vagina, but as she continued
gently rocking on top of me, my attention was drawn to the sensation of
my cock deep inside her, and then I exploded. Waves of contractions
coursed through my loins, lights flashed before my eyes, and I was in
heaven for one brief but wonderful moment.

“I love you,” she said, smiling down at me as I recovered.

I couldn’t say anything in reply. She bent down to kiss me, letting the
rings in her tits drag briefly on my chest, and then she got off of me.
“We’ve got work to do,” she said, “but first, hubby, let’s eat lunch and
talk our way through what we’re going to do with our lives.”

We ate lunch in my apartment, and over lunch, we talked about the pros
and cons of our places. Neither of us liked the apartment complex I’d
lived in for the last five years and her loft clearly had more space. On
the other hand, her loft wasn’t conventional, with its lack of walls
around the bathroom area and its location above a bookstore in an old
business district, it was hard for me to imagine myself living there.

She talked me into it, though. My last objection was that it would be
awkward to invite guests into a place with no private bathroom. I gave
in when she asked how many guests I’d entertained in my apartment; I
realized I’d never invited anyone in but the girlfriends I’d lived with,
and the last of those had moved out more than a year ago when she began
to show AIDS symptoms; it turned out she’d gotten it from her previous
lover, and I was damned lucky to have come away uninfected.

We hauled two carloads of my stuff to her place, enough to let me live
comfortably for a few days while we decided what to do with the rest of
our stuff. It was a hot day, though, so we called it quits after we
unloaded both of our cars at her place.

“It’s a holiday,” Anne said, sitting on her windowsill. “Let’s go for a
swim, then eat that picnic dinner we were planning. Isn’t there a pool
at the park where the city’s having the fireworks display?”

“Yes, but,” I sputtered. “Unless you take those rings out of your tits
and cunt, how can you wear a swimsuit? You told me that you and Janet
welded your rings so they were permanent!”

She chuckled. “What I’m wearing now is legal in the pool, the skirt was
even sold as swimwear. I’ve got a swimsuit you’ll like, though. Grab a
towel and your suit while I get mine, then let’s pack up a picnic supper
and go.”

We drove to the park, and as expected, had trouble finding a parking
space. The locker room at the pool was busy, but my mind was on my new
wife as I changed; I hardly noticed the other people in the men’s locker
room. I did notice others out on the pool deck, though. There’d been a
debate the previous summer about thong swimsuits at public pools, and
thongs had won out, but barely. More than a few were in evidence, and I
enjoyed watching the bare flesh that was exposed as a result.

“How do you like it,” Anne said from behind me.

I turned and looked. She wore a white bikini; not particularly modest
but not unusually revealing. There was no evidence of the rings in her
tits or between her legs.

“Wow,” I said. “But where are your rings? I thought they’d show.”

“They do, a bit,” Anne said, smiling. “Come on, let’s swim.”

She was a good swimmer, and we ended up swimming into the early evening.
I mean swimming, too, not just lounging in the water or “catching rays”
on the pool deck. When the pool lights came on, we realized that we’d
been in the water for hours and that the fireworks would start soon.

We hurried to get dressed, tossed our wet towels in the car, and grabbed
our picnic supplies for a late dinner before the fireworks. Fortunately
we hadn’t brought anything that needed cooking, just a cooler of drinks
and sandwiches. We found a good spot for a picnic under a lone oak tree
on top of a small hill. It promised a good view of the fireworks while
being far enough away to avoid the worst of the crowd.

While we were swimming, Anne worked me hard enough to make me ignore her
rings and her apparently unlimited interest in sex, but as she bent over
to spread our picnic blanket and get a sandwich for herself, it hit me
again. The hem of her tight white spandex skirt rose high enough that I
saw the bottoms of the rings between her legs and the gold bead at the
end of the chain from her clit, and when she leaned over the cooler, her
camisole fell away from her chest enough that I could clearly see the
rings in her tits.

While she ate, we sat cross legged on the blanket facing each other, and
she smiled when she noticed me looking at the exposed hardware between
her legs. As she finished her sandwich, she leaned back on one hand and
took a sip of her drink, then shocked me by using her free hand to toy
with the gold bead that hung from her clit.

“Anne,” I said, feeling my cock harden as I watched her. “We’re in the
park surrounded by people, don’t you care who sees what you’re doing?
You could get arrested!”

She smiled coyly at me as she continued to tug at the bead. “I care to
let you see; nobody else sees anything but a pretty girl who’s relaxing
with one hand resting on her thigh; besides, it’s almost dark enough that
I could take all my clothes off without anyone noticing.”

Just then, the fireworks began. While we packed up the remains of our
picnic, I wondered if she was seriously threatening to undress. She
wasn’t; she turned out to have other ideas. I leaned my back against the
trunk of our oak tree, and she sat next to me and snuggled against my
side while we watched the show.

I held my arm around her, while she rested a hand on my thigh, and after
a few minutes, she put her free hand over mine and slid it up under her
camisole. It was nice holding my hand on the bare skin of her side, but
that wasn’t what she wanted. She nudged my hand up towards her tit and
slid her other hand up my thigh to fondle my cock.

I experimented tentatively with the ring in her tit, and she nuzzled my
neck gently and then whispered in my ear. “Unzip your pants.”

I did, expecting her to slip a finger or two in to touch my cock. She
had other ideas. She shifted herself into my lap, leaned back against my
chest, and rested for a moment while she enjoyed the show. It was a good
fireworks show, but she was better. I played with her tits and the rings
she wore in them with both hands for a while while we both watched the
fireworks, and then she reached a hand between her legs and pulled my
cock free of my pants.

Somehow, she managed to slip it into her cunt before it was fully erect,
and then she started to squirm, very slowly and gently. She leaned her
head on my shoulder and when there was a pause in the fireworks display,
she whispered. “Good?”

“Nice,” I whispered, “but everyone can see us!”

She chuckled. “They’re watching the fireworks, silly; besides, there’s
not much to see.”

I continued to play with her tits while she gently squirmed, and despite
my misgivings, I was very excited. My cock felt huge, and every move
Anne made sent a shiver of exquisite pleasure through me. I was out of
control, unable to thrust or withdraw as she sat on me, but with every
thundering flash of the fireworks, I could feel her body vibrate against
my cock, exciting me even more.

As the fireworks reached their thundering finale, I came; the sensation
of Anne’s cunt engulfing my cock was overwhelming, even more so than the
continuous stream of concussions from the fireworks. I shuddered and
heaved under Anne, then collapsed back against the tree behind me.

My body was spent and my mind was reeling as I leaned against the tree in
the deafening silence after the fireworks finale. People applauded the
show, and Anne joined them from my lap, then gently slid off my cock and
tucked it back into my pants before she stood up.

Anne stood over me, and I looked up and studied her by the light of the
distant streetlights. I was flustered and a bit confused by what we’d
just done, but my new wife looked calm and happy. She held out her hand
to help me up after I’d stared at her for a while, then picked up our
stuff and led me back to the car.

“That was great,” she said as she unlocked the car, “but stop gawking at
me and zip up your pants.”

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