CHAPTER SIX
Laurie
Oh god, it was so delicious. I loved the fact that I’d just fucked my delivery man with no idea of what his name was, no condom, no nothing. It was so wrong and it turned me on, living on the wild side.
Because I’d been depressed and repressed at once, the divorce painful, and this hot action, this nasty little episode, was just the thing to shake me from my despair. So I completely let go, acting out my wildest fantasies, not holding back at all, sucking him deep while sticking my finger up his ass, drinking his juices, and after it was all over, pushing my tongue into the wet pool on the duvet.
And the big man loved it, watching my every move with ravenous eyes, his dick springing back to life even after he came.
“Fuck, little girl,” he rasped hoarsely, unable to tear his eyes away as I dipped my head for another taste of sperm on the coverlet. “Fuck, how’d you get so dirty?”
And I just looked up and smiled, pausing for a moment.
“Mister,” I murmured throatily. “It comes natural to me.”
His eyes lit on fire then.
“Natural, huh?” he asked, slapping a big hand against my ass, making me jump with shock before quivering with pleasure, those square fingers already massaging the sensitive space, my skin warm almost hot, tingling at his touch. “Well, you’re the best natural I’ve ever had.”
And I flushed, pleased then. Because I’d been so horny, so provocative that he hadn’t guessed my secret … that I’m a virgin. Yeah, it’s pretty unbelievable given that I’d just done a deep-throat combined with a prostate massage, but you can learn anything on the internet these days and I’ve seen my fair share of porn, firing up my laptop to surf the nasty sites, always making sure to clear my history afterwards. And even though I’m a slut, what I’d done today was nothing, totally nothing compared to what professionals did on screen.
But yeah, going back to my admission – I’m a virgin who’s also a divorcee. And it makes a twisted kind of sense once you know my story. Because why else do you think I left my husband? Gary and I dated two years before the wedding and we’d never done it during that time, never sampled each other, never explored each other intimately. My ex always said he wanted to “save himself,” arguing that he was “respecting me” by not touching me until there was a wedding band on my finger.
And I was so young then, so naïve, that I bought it. Gary was completely different from the boys in high school who’d been all over me, pawing at my breasts, trying to grope my pussy, even begging me for blow jobs, pleading with their faces scrunched up, groins twisted in agony. So when Gary argued that he was being the better man, acting the gentleman, I believed it.
Except when it came to our wedding night, he didn’t deliver. At first, it was no big deal. We were in the honeymoon suite at midnight, exhausted from the festivities and Gary was face down on the big bed, still dressed in his tuxedo, shiny loafers on.
“Gary,” I said, prodding his shoulder. “Come on, get up. It’s time to get lucky.”
I’d shed my wedding gown and was clad in nothing but high heels some flimsy, filmy lingerie, a tiny teddy and matching g-string I’d picked up at a French boutique a couple days earlier. Oh yeah, the time had come and I was horny and wet, desperate to get my cherry popped. Even though we were exhausted and tired, I was still intent on fucking my new husband asap.
“Come on Gary,” I prodded again, groaning as I rolled his massive form over, trying to force him awake with a series of shakes at his shoulder. “Don’t you want to taste me? Come on, open your eyes, look,” I said. And I popped a boob out of my negligee, the huge tit pendulous and creamy as I dangled it against his lips, trailing the pink nipple across his mouth. “Come on big boy, doesn’t that taste good? Wake up, wake up.”
But Gary was dead to the world. He was so gone, so tired and drunk from partying that I couldn’t rouse him, couldn’t shake him from his stupor. I stared at the prone male form, disappointed and horny. WTF?! I’d been dreaming of this day for twenty-two years and my body was on fire, dying for cock, running wet and steamy despite the fact that my supposed partner in crime was a bag of rocks at the moment.
Looking at his unresponsive body, I thought through my options. I could be a good girl and get in the shower and go to bed, desperate and unfulfilled, or I could make the best of the situation. I pursed my lips, thinking. It wasn’t fair. I’d been dying for this moment, buying the special lingerie, shaving myself, primping with high-end products, and fuck but Gary was such a let-down. I looked at him closely again, and the man was handsome even passed out, that perfect, chiseled face, the jaw strong and firm even though his mouth slightly open as he snored.
So I went for it. I was too desperate, too horny, and needed to sate myself, needed to get myself off as best I could using what was at hand. And if my new husband woke up midway, it’d just be an amazing surprise right? Any guy would die to be in his place.
So I crawled onto the bed, moving up his big body slowly, stealthily, careful not to disturb him. I crouched in a kneeling position, my legs spread over his face and braced one hand on the headboard for balance. With my other hand, I swept my panties to the side, baring my sweet cunt, my nether lips engorged, already dripping with cream and slowly, oh so slowly, lowered my pussy onto Gary’s face. I know I was taking advantage of him, taking advantage of a drunk man who could hardly protect himself, but still, what new husband wouldn’t die to wake up like this? It was like a dream come true, most dudes would eat it up, literally and figuratively.
So sinking down on my knees, I pressed my kitty against his face, wiping the soft flesh all over his cheeks, chin and mouth. And fuck, it felt good. Gary was snoring slightly, the air whistling between his lips, blowing a stream of cool air onto my cunt, and when I ground my pussy hard against his nose, he let out a honking snort, his eyes even flickering slightly.
I held my breath, going completely still. But Gary was too drunk to wake up, so I kept going, circling my kitty on his face, wiping my juices all over him, my little hand trailing across my clit as I ground onto his mouth, nose, and chin. And the magic started, a sizzling sensation began to burn deep in my snatch, emanating in waves out to my pelvic region, making my knees shiver, my tummy clench and shake with ecstasy.
And I let go then, both hands clutching the headboard as I threw my head back and screamed, boobies bouncing.
“Fuuuuck!” I shrieked. “Oh fuuuuuck!”
My pussy was creaming like mad now, there was so much juice that it was literally gushing all over Gary’s cheeks, his face completely wet and shiny from my cum, the nectar oozing down over his chin, seeping into his tux collar. But I didn’t care. This was my wedding night and I intended on having sex with my husband even if he couldn’t participate. So I came and came and came, grinding my kitty against him, drenching him, feeding him my nectar while he slept.
And Gary, that fucking slob, didn’t stir at all, not even a little bit. He was a dumb dunce, what guy doesn’t come to when your new wife pounds her pussy against you, yelling and screaming like a banshee, coating your nose and mouth with her honey? But Gary is a stupid fuck and just kept snoring, his eyes shut tight, probably dreaming of video games or some other lame shit. In retrospect, he was probably dreaming of his mistress but at that time, I had no idea about the betrayal to come.
So I just helped myself to a huge orgasm, grinding onto the handsome man’s face again and again. And after it was over, I shook myself off, spraying him with a few last droplets of cream before getting off and padding to the bathroom, my pussy satisfied and loose, but not quite loose enough. I wanted it loose from dick, from having a huge monster inside and hopefully my husband would be lucid tomorrow to really get it on, dick in twat style.
But there was no tomorrow. The next morning when Gary woke up, he groaned, sitting up, clutching his head like it was pounding.
“What’s that smell?” were his first words, his voice hoarse and raspy.
“What smell?” I asked innocently, blinking my eyes like a doe. I was already up and awake, dressed in a silk robe sitting at the small table in our suite, eating room service. “Maybe my eggs and bacon?” I asked, forking another bite into my mouth, savoring the mouth-watering Canadian ham. Our parents had gone all out, treating us to the honeymoon suite and I was enjoying the entire package.
But Gary groaned again, shaking his head, lifting the collar of his dress shirt to his nose for a sniff.
“No, that other smell,” he croaked again, eyes bleary. “It’s pungent but aromatic, really, really …” and his eyes widened suddenly.
“What is it?” I asked again innocently, biting into another forkful of egg. Mmm, this omelet was done just right, fluffy with a bit of cilantro for spice.
“Fuck, Laurie,” he growled, his eyes growing dark with rage. “Did you? Did you really …?”
But I wasn’t done playing with him yet.
“Did I what?” I asked, finally putting my fork down. “What did you want to ask me, honey?” I said sweetly.
And Gary jumped to his feet, his massive form shaking with rage, his face going beet red then deep purple, eyes bugging out.
“Did you come on my face last night?” he bellowed, heaving for air as he tried to get the words out. “Did you fucking orgasm on my face while I was asleep?”
And I nodded sweetly again, not at all intimidated.
“Yes, Gary. And it was wonderful, you were passed out so I figured I’d help myself to the goods,” I cooed. “I came not once, not twice, but three times, all without your help,” I added helpfully. “Your snoring is really arousing, by the way, the vibrations feel amazing on my clit.”
And my new husband lost it then.
“You fucking fucked my face while I was passed out?” he screeched, jumping up and down like a monkey. “Do you realize how wrong that is? We were saving it for marriage, we were supposed to take each other’s virginities, it was supposed to be a special time and you’ve fucking ruined it!” he screamed. “You whore, you slut! You’ve ruined it.”
But I just smiled. I swear, Gary was so handsome but juvenile sometimes. He should have thanked me for using him as my fuckdoll, how many guys ever got the opportunity? But I couldn’t get a word in because my new husband really flew off the handle then.
“I wish I’d never married you!” he screamed, yanking his wedding ring off and throwing it into the far reaches of the room, the metal band disappearing under some furniture. I sighed and rolled my eyes. At the time, I thought this was over-the-top dramatic given that we’d just lovingly exchanged vows not twenty-four hours ago in front of dozens of friends and family. But Gary couldn’t be stopped, he was serious.
“You better not be here after I get out of the shower,” he ground out, his face mottled, spittle flying from his lips. “Get the fuck out,” he raged before stomping into the en suite.
I just shrugged, not taking him seriously. I figured a hot shower would calm him down, help take the edge off the hangover, but that was my mistake because my new husband was actually dead serious. When Gary came out of the bathroom and saw me sitting there still, calmly finishing my breakfast, he stomped over to the closet and began throwing random things into a suitcase.
“What are you doing?” I asked, eyebrows raised. As a newlywed of twenty-four hours, I never expected what happened next, not in a million years.
“I’m leaving,” he stated coldly, not even looking at me. And I shrugged, not too worried. We’d had fights before and I figured Gary just needed to cool down, we were meeting some family for a post-wedding brunch in a few hours, surely he’d put on a smile and act like a happy groom even if he was still seething inside.
But no, Gary actually checked out of the hotel and disappeared. Just like that, he became an invisible man nowhere to be found, ignoring all my texts, my pleading voicemails, my desperate attempts to reach him. And I was really embarrassed.
“Where is he?” whispered my mom during the brunch. We were supposed to be celebrating our nuptials, but one half of the happy couple was nowhere to be found. “Your husband was drunk last night but still, honey, he should be here,” she said reprovingly.
“I know Ma,” I replied, whispering out of the side of my mouth. “But Gary stormed out this morning, raging mad, and I haven’t seen him since.”
Linda paused.
“But what did you fight about?” she asked, her eyes confused. “You were literally just married yesterday, this makes no sense.”
And I shook my head, shrugging, red coloring my cheeks. This was not the time to tell my mom, or anyone, that I’d rubbed my kitty on my groom’s face while he was sleeping. I’m not sure which part was worse … that I’d done that to an unconscious man, or that my new husband, who was supposed to adore my kitty, had stormed out in anger after he found out.
So I just shook my head, shifting gears.
“I’m sure Gary will come around,” I said reassuringly. “He’s probably just running a little late, maybe he needs to get gas for the car.”
But to my utter embarrassment, that asshole didn’t show up. Didn’t come to his own wedding brunch, leaving me humiliated in front of assorted family and friends, making apologies and excuses when we should have been putting on a show as lovebirds, cooing at each other, romantic with stars in our eyes.
“Well,” said my mom tightly. “I hope this is a one-time thing for your sake.”
I nodded.
“I know, Ma, I know,” I said soothingly. “I’m sure Gary will come around, this was just an aberration, he’s usually really responsible and kind.”
But the look in my mom’s eyes wasn’t so sure. Maybe Linda knew something that I didn’t, or maybe it was the fact that she’s been married four times, but my mom’s instincts proved right. Because my new husband had gone certifiably crazy, he pulled the plug on our union just like that. Gary never moved into our new apartment, never moved his stuff in, never applied for the extra parking space we’d talked about. Instead, the incident on our wedding night opened a can of worms and I realized the man I’d married had been a mirage, a figment of my imagination.
Because almost immediately, gossip started circulating that Gary was seeing a pretty blonde thing on the side, someone young, perky and skinny, the whole boobs on a stick thing.
I was aghast, horrified and beyond hurt, the pain terrifying because it was so unreal. Maybe I’d fucked up during our wedding night, maybe I shouldn’t have face-fucked Gary while he was sleeping, maybe I’d crossed some invisible line and I was willing to admit that. But an affair? After we’d just been married? We’d literally just signed the wedding certificate, this was a nightmare come true.
And who the fuck was this chick? How had this blonde girl come out of nowhere? The ramifications left me gasping for air, a dying fish. We’d just celebrated our big day, how could this be happening?
But like a slow-motion car crash, news kept on filtering out and the house of cards came crashing down, lie after lie after lie piling upon one another, becoming a giant snowball of lies. Because Gary had known this girl for a while, she was a student at the community college where he taught, a tiny blonde thing who was barely legal, tanned and toned and skinny, probably weighing a hundred pounds.
And Gary really was fucking her. Really, truly fucking her, that “waiting until we’re married” spiel had been a giant deception because she was pregnant with his child, her tummy already growing big with a boy or girl, I have no idea which. And the realization was crushing. All the lies he’d fed me were just that, lies. There was no “special occasion,” no “special event” where we learned about each other’s bodies, exploring, touching, kissing passionately while bringing each other to our first orgasms. No, Gary had been pounding this other woman all along, spurting his seed into her so much to the point where she was actually pregnant, this ho was going to have the child of a married man.
So I was devastated, beyond terrified at what I’d discovered. I was a wreck, cold sweats pouring down my forehead, my knees, neck and back clammy and chill, my brain half-dead with shock. I thought about disappearing for a while, treating myself to the whole Elizabeth Gilbert Eat, Pray, Love world tour, but I don’t have that kind of money. I have a job, bills to pay, responsibilities, and I couldn’t just jet off for months on end while finding myself and rebuilding from the ground up.
So I stayed state-side and filed for divorce, like what a regular person does. I moved out of our joint apartment as soon as I could, as soon as the broker presented me with an option that was cheap and affordable. Sure, the fifth floor tenement wasn’t ideal because I didn’t want to live a student lifestyle again, but fuck, I couldn’t stay in that huge apartment anymore, not when I’d heard Gary was planning on moving his new paramour there, setting up a nursery for his new child.
So here I am. I’d just fucked my delivery man because I was starving for love, my marriage had been a complete sham, my life in tatters. My supposedly strong launch into wedded bliss had collapsed when brushed with a feather, and all that was left were broken pieces, my heart, my body, my soul shaken to the core, my belief in destiny and happily ever afters destroyed, my confidence in shreds. Even more perverse, I was a divorcee who was still a virgin. Can you believe it? It sucked, but I was ready to change that asap … hopefully, with a little help from my gorgeous delivery man.