"I'll make it all better." I said no more, just lowered my head and licked her, tasted her, carefully working her until she came against my tongue.
When I lifted my head, she was asleep, so worn out from her constant arousal and orgasms. I couldn't help but smile. She was pretty as a picture. Wild hair, her breasts so full and round, her nipples puffy and bright pink. Her skirts were a tangle about her waist and her legs lewdly spread open, exposing her well used pussy. Even while she slept her body dripped its desire, thick and creamy, down over her swollen folds to her pretty, closed rosette.
I left her there to make a simple dinner, her taste still on my tongue. Not an expert cook like Maura, I was able to make enough food to keep us full until Maura returned in the morning. Ten minutes later, I returned and found Catherine just as I'd left her, still asleep, but one hand was on her breast, over a nipple. Her hips shifted slightly and she was breathing hard. The honeymoon dose appeared to be more than she needed now, although I could see how it would be very helpful with a willful new wife. Catherine moaned. It was time to take care of her again.
Catherine
I awoke to my legs spread wide, with my husband's head between my legs with his tongue licking over my...pussy. And I loved it. I cried out as I watched his dark head move between my thighs. One of my hands was on my breast and I couldn't help but tug at the nipple. It tingled with the need to be touched.
Jake stopped, looked up at me with a smile, his lips and chin coated with my wetness. "This doesn't hurt you, does it?"
I shook my head.
He grinned. "I told you, I'd take care of you. If this is what you need, it's my job to do it."
Using one finger, he gently touched my lips down there. "Are they sore?"
"Only a little."
He slowly eased the finger inside of me.
"Here?"
I nodded. "So sore," I gasped.
"Poor little pussy," he crooned.
His finger moved lower. "Are you sore here?"
My back passage was wet, either from my own arousal or from the pill, and when he circled his finger there, pressing in slightly, I couldn't help but gasp. My eyes flared. "No."
"But?"
The man was wicked. He knew what he was doing. Knew what having a finger there would make me feel. "But it...it feels good."
"Oh, sweetheart, you please me so. Do you need to come again before we eat?"
I shut my eyes for a moment, but when he pushed a little harder against my back entrance, they flew open in surprise. "Yes!"
"Good girl. I'm going to eat you out, then I'm going to eat my dinner." With that, he lowered his head and made me...come again, this time with his finger working in and out of my ass. Amazingly enough, after all the times I’d already come that day, I screamed with the intensity of my release.
The next morning, I was put through a similar routine with Jake, except he didn't fuck me. I went to the bar, had the cork he'd inserted before bed removed and went to the washroom to bathe. I hadn't been sick again since that first night and was relieved the pill worked so well. Once it was pushed deep inside me, I barely noticed it. By morning, I couldn't feel it at all, although I was slick back there to ease whatever he put in my ass for the day. Thankfully, this morning it was a cork, just a little bit wider than the last he'd used, although it wasn't long like the plug. It seemed I was either to be stretched wide or stuffed deep; I couldn't decide which was worse. Jake dressed me in another skirt and open fronted blouse and I twisted my hair up into a bun at my nape.
At breakfast, I looked longingly at my special chair, but my pussy was still too sore to consider using it. I realized, as I drank my coffee, that I was now thinking of my most intimate place as my pussy, my pleasure as coming and my back entrance as my ass. In the few days as Jake's wife, I saw changes in myself, and they were far greater than exposed breasts.
"Maura will be back to do the dishes and clean the house. I thought you might like a little bit of company."
I put the coffee cup down. "Like this?" I glanced down at my breasts, which, if I slumped my shoulders, would rest on the table. I'd been ever vigilant while I ate to prevent them from doing so and the humiliating experience of getting syrup on them again.
"Of course." He bit into a piece of bacon.
"People can't see me like this!"
"I do."
"You're my husband."
"Cole has," he countered.