Aunt Edna's Needs Ch. 11

Chapter Eleven

I woke with her still in my hand.

She was snoring that delicate purr.

I just watched her sleep and pictured our life together.

Because, the thing is, very much to my surprise, I realized I was in love. I couldn't begin to explain it. I certainly hadn't planned it. But there it was. Here I was, awakening beside a woman almost three times my age, holding her womb in my hand as I woke, and realizing that I was in love. Not just that I loved her but that I was in love WITH her.

And so I watched her sleep and listened to her snore and contemplated how our lives would be.

I knew, I suppose, that her innocence for all that she had born two daughters, was part of it. So much of what we had done was new to her. It was like I had a virgin bride-to-be.

She was quite pretty in her sleep. Relaxed, the years were shed. I couldn't see the beautiful teenage bride she had been, but I could see the pretty 30-something mom sitting in the bleachers to watch her daughters play basketball or compete in gymnastics tournaments.

She twitched a little and I could see her eyes moving under her lids. I wondered what her dreams held. I fantasized that I was in them.

I guess it WAS a good dream she was having. I saw her nipples get hard, her areolas tighten and caught the first faint whiff of her womanscent. And still, I just held her womb in my hand and watched her sleep.

It was fascinating, watching the dream progress. Her breathing sped up and the scent got stronger. Where my hand held her she got warm and wet and then slick.

I squeezed, very gently, massaging her core, enjoying the way her breath caught as she slept and dreamed.

She was flowing now, a gentle wet warmth on my hand, as I massaged gently.

I could feel the grin spreading across my face as I wondered if I would be able to bring her to orgasm before she woke.

But I couldn't.

Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled.

"Good morning, baby," she said, stretching luxuriously, like a cat, and parting her legs even more, "what a delightful way to wake up."

I kissed her, and used my hand as if I was masturbating, pulling her, squeezing, bringing her along.

She laid back, obviously enjoying what I was doing.

"Don't worry, baby," she said, her voice almost conversational, "I won't hold you to it."

I stopped moving and just held her. "Won't hold me to what?" I asked.

"Oh honey, it was sweet of you, but you don't have to marry me," she said.

I released her then and rolled out of bed. I offered her my hand and she looked puzzled as she took it.

I got her into a sitting position and noticed that her womb was still there, outside of her body.

Then I got to one knee, that classic proposal position everyone knows from movies, and took her hands in mine.

"Edna Rose," I said, holding her eyes with mine, "you have captured my heart. You have captured my soul. Will you accept my body? Will you marry me?"

Her reaction was fascinating.

Her eyes overflowed, her nose started running, and her uterus pulled back into her body like a prairie dog slipping into its hole.

I said no more, just held her eyes and her hands.

"David," she said, her voice a little bubbly, "you don't have to."

I said nothing, just held her eyes and her hands.

"Oh God," she said, her eyes widening, "oh Jesus Christ."

Suddenly she was bawling, great whooping sobs.

I said nothing. I didn't move. I just held her eyes and her hands.

I don't know how long that storm lasted. Long enough that she was an absolute mess. Tears were dripping onto her lap, snot was hanging in thick strings from her chin. Her mouth was open slightly and she was drooling a thick, mucus laden saliva.

I said nothing. I didn't move. I just held her eyes and her hands.

"You mean it," she managed at last.

"You have ruined me for any other woman," I said, more or less mirroring what she had said last night, "you have my heart. You have my soul. Accept my body. Marry me."

"Yes," she said after a long hesitation, "yes," she repeated as she slipped off of the bed and got to her knees so that our knees were touching and our eyes were on the same level, "YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS," she sort of wailed as she threw her arms around me, kissed me, and then wrapped me into a cheek-to-cheek embrace.

"Yes," she whispered, "yes," she repeated, "yes," she said, kissing me again.

She stood then, holding my hands, and I stood with her.

On the bed, I slipped inside of her, missionary position so I could see her face.

She must have said, "yes," a hundred times through a dozen orgasms while we made love on the morning of our wedding day.

I could feel a wonderful pressure as her uterus fought with my erection for space in her vagina.

Our lovemaking lingered. It was slow and tender rather than hard and passionate. And she kept saying "yes" as sort of a chant.

In the end, my control failed when the tightness in her vagina got to be too much. My ejaculation was almost gentle, flowing, filling her, rather than the sudden contraction that was normal.

I kept covering her face with kisses, tasting the salt of tears and snot, and she kept saying "yes" over and over as we lay there, basking in the afterglow.

When I slipped out she sort of whimpered and I hissed, but that didn't stop the kisses or the "yeses."

Finally, my arms tired and I rolled off of her but stayed close so we could share a pillow and keep kissing.

I don't know how long we laid in the afterglow. Long enough for both of us to get our breathing back to normal.

Long enough for us to start saying, "I love you," back and forth.

Finally, she giggled and rolled away, rolled off the bed and headed for the bathroom. I enjoyed watching her go.

I started the shower water running to get hot, went to the toilet to kiss and wipe her, and then held her hand as we stepped into the shower.

We showered and then I actually shaved, something I did rarely since I got out of the Air Force.

She moved behind me as I shaved, watching around my shoulder, and smiling. "Going to look good on your wedding day?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

I washed the remaining cream off of my face and then sat her in front of the mirror and started on her hair. I brushed and fluffed and used the blow dryer until it was a great curly mass hanging well down her back. I watched as she did her face, pleased to note that she was doing it moderately, not the sort of "Yeah, I'm a bit of a slut" look she had done the last couple of days.

To wear for her wedding I picked out the most modest thing she had brought. It was a dark blue print with a pattern of little white dots. The dress was slightly below her knees. The only thing remotely "sexy" about it was the way it was sleeveless, leaving her shoulders bare and, of course, allowing that luxuriant body hair to peek out. I even laid out a bra and panties, hose and a garter belt. I figured our wedding day should be at least a little bit formal. Besides, the strapless bra did GREAT things for her boobs and waistline.

I even turned on the TV and caught the news rather than just watching her dress, something I enjoyed doing. I figured she shouldn't be all smelling of sex when we went to the courthouse.

I Googled "where does one get a marriage license in Colorado" and found out we needed to go to the Clerk and Recorder's office.

"Ready?" I asked when she was all dressed including her black pumps to go with the ensemble.

She stood and took my hands again.

"David, are you certain?" she asked.

"Edna, are you certain?" I asked.

She giggled and the mood was broken.

"Yes," she said.

"Yes," I said.

We walked hand in hand to the car and then headed downtown to that same restaurant.

And she drew the same looks, making me proud all over.

After breakfast, we headed for the County Courthouse, found the Clerk's office, and spent about 10 minutes giggling together as we filled out the license form and took it back to the clerk.

"Is there a judge available to marry us?" I asked.

"Did you complete and sign the license?" she asked.

"Ummmmmm, yes," I said.

She smiled and said, "then you're married as soon as I file this."

I guess I looked stupid. God knows I felt stupid.

She smiled and said, "Colorado's pretty loose on these things but if you want a judge to read the words, hang on."

"I'd appreciate it," I said.

She punched a button on her phone and said something I couldn't quite hear.

I saw her nod but then shake her head.

She punched another button.

And another.

On the fourth, she turned and made a thumb's up sign to me, said some more into the phone, wrote a note on a sticky note pad, and handed it to me.

"You're in luck," she said, "Judge Stevens has a light load today. Go up to room 403 and he's expecting you."

"Thank you," I said and Edna added, "thank you SO much" over my shoulder.

We held hands in the elevator and then found room 403. It was a standard courtroom like you've seen a zillion times on TV with wood benches and an aisle leading to a fenced-in area with a raised bench. There was nobody in the room so we walked in calling out a semi-quiet "helloooo."

A door at the back opened and a very distinctive looking man stepped out.

"You must be Mr. Morgan and Ms. Rose," he said.

"We are," I said.

He stepped forward and offered his hand, "Henry Stevens," he said.

He stepped back and looked at us.

"So you want to get married," he said, "is that it?"

"It is," we said together and then giggled.

He turned serious then.

"Now you realize that the license is good for 35 days," he said, "so there's no hurry."

I grinned and said, "oh, there's a hurry all right. She insists I make her an honest woman."

He smiled, kind of wanly, and said, "well then, and you want a judge to officiate, right?"

"Yes," we said together.

"Would you like a witness?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Edna said.

He chuckled and let out a very shrill, very loud whistle and called out, "Sandra, come into the courtroom please."

A pretty, bone-thin woman came into the room, smiling.

"All right, then," he said, "step over here."

He led us to the front of the room, right under the high bench. He turned and smiled and pulled a little pamphlet out of his jacket pocket.

It was a very simple ceremony. I said, "I do" at the appropriate points and Edna did too.

I put her engagement ring back on her finger at the appropriate point and she just blushed and said, "I'll get his ring later."

For some reason, the final line sticks in my mind. At the end of the vows we each said, "I plight my troth," with absolutely no idea what that phrase might mean.

He signed and the lady named Sandra signed, we shook hands all around, and we left, man and wife.

I was not surprised that Edna was crying. I was very surprised that I was.

We spent the day sightseeing. We went through a string of tiny towns - Poncha Springs and Maysville and then had lunch at the Monarch Ski resort, admiring the mountain and talking about possibly coming skiing in the winter.

We wandered further on Highway 50 until we got to Gunnison by which time the sun had gone down. We ate and drank and danced at another little roadhouse. The waitress announced to the house that we were newlyweds when I asked, joking, if there was a special for wedding days and we were swamped with people asking for a "wedding dance," mostly young men for her, mostly, well, let's say, "mature" women for me. It was great fun.

And I didn't have to fight.

We found a motel, the Gunnison Inn, a more or less standard motel in a beautiful setting. It had a small balcony overlooking a small stream.

We had no luggage since we hadn't really planned this trip. I carried her over the threshold and as soon as her feet were back on the floor I started undressing her. She was breathless as I did. Okay, I was breathless too. It had been quite a day.

My fingers were trembling and I had trouble with her strapless bra with its seven hooks. She was giggling when she pushed me away and did something I had never seen before. She grabbed the top of the bra where heavy wires held things in place, and gave it a healthy jerk. In two more jerks she had it turned around so the cups were in the back and she could do the hooks in the front. She giggled and said, "I had to dress and undress myself for a long time honey."

I handled the nylons and shoes, the garter belt and panties, and when she was naked I buried my face in her luxurious pubic hair, found her clitoris with my tongue, and made her cum for the first time as a newly married woman standing in the middle of that motel room.

That salty, oily love honey filled my mouth as I brought her to a trembling orgasm, my hands on her ass supporting her as I felt her knees flex in her excitement.

"Oh Jesus," she sort of whined, her fingers entwined in my hair, pulling me away. "Enough, baby, please," she managed in that same high pitched voice.

When she had her breath back she started on me.

It was kind of awkward, to be honest, I'm glad there were no video cameras. We were both keyed up and couldn't seem to stop kissing each other. She finally got my shoes and socks off, then my khakis and boxers.

She was on her knees as she finished and started making love to my erection. She didn't just take it into her mouth. She kissed it and caressed it with her cheeks and her forehead and her eyelids. When she whispered "I love you," I wasn't sure if she was talking to my cock or me, and I didn't care which.

She stood and kissed me, a long, VERY long, lingering kiss, her hands were spidery things tickling up and down my back and her tongue was a warm, wet, probe exploring my mouth.

"Hold that thought," she said, giggling, and disappearing into the bathroom. I was surprised when she shut the door. I had thought we were past any modesty. But it was her wedding day so I didn't object.

I looked around the room. Not much to see. It was absolutely standard. A king-size bed, a small desk, a chest of drawers with a big flat-screen TV, two bedside tables, one with a lamp and one with a radio/clock. The wallpaper was a neutral color, the art was the stuff you'd find at "Starving Artists" shows, good in a commercial kind of way, and the carpet had a complicated pattern, all the better to hide any stains.

I had completed my circle when I heard a click and she came out of the bathroom.

"Go pee," she said, "I don't want any interruptions."

I chuckled and did as I was told.

When I came out of the bathroom she was on the phone.

"Who ya callin'?" I asked, nuzzling her neck.

She hung up the phone and giggled. "Put on a towel, honey," she said, "they're sending up a couple of toothbrushes and some toothpaste. I'll meet you on the balcony," she said and opened the sliding door to the balcony and disappeared behind the curtain.

So I grabbed a towel and fiddled with the radio, finding a soft rock station and setting the volume low.

The motel was efficient and it was just a couple of minutes before there came that discrete knock on the door. I had a five-dollar bill ready, filched from my bride's purse, and accepted the little package and handed over the tip with a "Thank you very much."

"Breakfast starts at seven," the young man said and left.

On the balcony, my bride had struck a wonderfully sexy pose. Her feet were a little more than shoulder-width apart and about three feet back from the rail, her hands were on the rail and her back was arched, obviously offering ass and pussy to her husband.

I moved behind her and put my hands on her hips, brushing my erection against her ass, making her giggle.

She reached around and captured my hand with hers, moving it down until I brushed the hair of her labia.

She held me there and I heard her draw in a deep breath and then felt the tension of her body as she pushed her cervix and her uterus out, filling my hand with the tough muscle.

"Oh my," I said, squeezing gently.

"Wait," she said, moving my hand up, covering it, holding it against the crack of her ass.

This time she was grunting, I could feel her straining, and then the bulge of her anus and then, slowly, that other hard muscle, this one her rectum.

She was panting a little with the effort she was expending and said, "okay, now look and see everything of your bride you'll ever see unless you use surgical instruments."

So I stepped back and just looked.

Prolapse is such a harsh sounding word, and so completely inappropriate for what I was seeing.

The light wasn't bright, but there was plenty to see what she was showing me.

And it was beautiful.

Her uterus, very pink and shiny with her excitement, hung like a slightly oversized pear. Her rectum was dark, almost red, a round-tipped column.

She looked so completely exposed that I wanted to protect her.

As I watched she giggled and pulled them back in, then pushed out her uterus, pulled it back, then her rectum and pulled it back.

She turned, smiling like a kid who had just fooled an adult with a card trick.

"I've been practicing," she said.

I laughed and said, "it shows."

"You like?" she asked, eyes slightly downcast.

"Oh honey," I said, "I love all of you but yes, I LOVE your new tricks."

She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me.

"Take your kinky bride to bed honey," she said.

We made love the first time, gently, tenderly. It took a clean ten minutes by the clock I could see, and when I finished I was spent. But so was she.

We laid together, sharing a pillow, saying "I love you," kissing with each tiny movement, until I got hard again.

The second time was more strenuous. I was concentrating on trying to cum for the second time in a few minutes and she was cumming like a hose. Before too long, though, I think her energy was spent since she didn't squeeze on me like she usually did.

When I finally came it was that true "agony/ecstasy" you see written. I had to strain and grunt and it hurt along with being that pure pleasure of ejaculation.

I slept almost immediately.

The third time we made love on our wedding night I woke to feel her lips on me, making me hard. I used my hands to guide her, to bring her around so we could make mutual oral love, on our sides.

We were both well satisfied, so this time we lasted. The mixed tastes of my semen and her nectar, and the mixed scents, were powerful aphrodisiacs, but a body has only so much recovery potential. Being a woman she came much more easily than I did, and I drank her pleasure greedily. When she pushed I licked and caressed her uterus with my tongue and my cheeks, probing her cervix gently with my tongue, making her gasp a quick intake of breath.

When I came I knew it was only a few drops, no matter how hard my body strained and she kept sucking, drawing the last drops from me.

She squirmed around and we started sharing a pillow again, kissing, dozing, sleeping.

The fourth time was when I woke needing desperately to pee.

I sat, hoping I could be quiet and not wake her, and then brushed my teeth with the new toothbrush.

She was still sleeping when I snuck back into bed, adjusted a pillow, and latched onto her nipple.

I felt her wake with the change in her breathing and then the way her hand started stroking my hair. Then she giggled and rolled away, her nipple coming loose with an audible little pop.

"Gotta pee," she said, giggling, moving very lightly, almost skipping, to the bathroom.

"Well," I said when she crawled back into bed, "did you wipe."

She giggled and said, "of course not, that's your job now, my husband."

I laughed and squirmed my way down her body to find the thick mat of her pubic hair with my mouth.

I could taste that she hadn't lied, and so I licked her clean.

"Is it wrong," I said, lifting myself to look at her over the swell of her breasts, "that I kind of like doing this?"