John Peter
Teenage wives
I: AN OLD FASHION VIRGIN
Seventeen year old Janet Tebbleton soaped her ring finger. It was the only way she could get the new wedding band off. The thing was a size too small for her, and she hadn't been able to get back to the jeweler yet in order to have it made larger. One good tug though, with the help of the slippery soap, and the ring came off. She set the gold band down in the soap dish and looked at herself in the mirror. Now she was completely naked.
She wondered if marriage had changed her at all, and that was the purpose of taking off everything, all of her clothes, all of her bracelets and necklaces and the ring. 'Well,' she thought to herself, 'I don't look different, BUT…' The big 'but' was on account of the fact that before she married Tom, two weeks before, she hadn't ever had sexual intercourse. She'd petted a lot, in the back seat of his car, and she'd been known to go out with more than one guy, and every now and then she'd allowed a fellow she liked to play with her little slot with his finger, but until her wedding night, she was a virgin. But now, as she inspected her tanned supple flesh in the bathroom mirror, she was far from virgin. Even though she'd only been married for two weeks, fourteen nights, she'd made love with Tom in what she was sure was every conceivable position. They'd done it standing up, sitting down, in the car, in bed, in the tub, in the closet, on the living room floor, in Tom's dark room at the studio, in her parent's washroom, in the apartment house swimming pool, and in just about any place you'd care to name. They'd fucked rightside up, upside down, on their heads, on their backs, on their bellies. Every time was better than the time before. Sometimes she could just think about Tom's big hog and that would be enough to make her sweet young pussy start to drooling. It was so good that she suddenly felt like she had something to live for.
Of course, the first night hadn't been all peaches and cream. No, indeed! It hurt her a lot. She thought she'd die when Tom stuffed that big hunk of penis flesh into her virgin hole. He nearly broke the ribbon with the first thrust. And she'd told him to go slow, too, but there was no stopping him. After all, he'd waited a long time, too, and it was mostly on her account. There was a lot of blood, probably more of that than pain from the big hot meat in her twat, and that was a little frightening. But after that, after that first bursting of the dam, as it were.. Well, from then on, she couldn't get enough of Tom's cock. Actually, she couldn't get enough sex. Period.
She didn't have any inhibitions about licking his joint, about sucking off the big red mushroom head, the spongy tip. She didn't mind licking out his anus or kissing his loins or sucking his balls. She loved it when he ate her, and she even started thinking about having his prick shoved up her asshole. She was willing, eager, to try just about every kind of sex that was possible. And two weeks, fourteen nights, hadn't been nearly enough for her.
But Tom had to go back to work, and the honeymoon, whether Janet liked it or not, was now over. And she'd decided to take a quick look at herself in the mirror. So she stood in the bathroom with her ring finger naked for the first time in fourteen days, and she inspected her body. Her smooth pendular tittles hung down full and ripe as ever. Of course, there was a small heart-shaped hickey on one of her tits, but that didn't matter so much. As a matter of fact, she rather liked seeing that little red splotch there on her otherwise tanned chest. It was like a medal, a love medallion, a lovely little temporary scar, which indicated that she'd been through something. Except for that, and of course, except for the fact that ever since that first night of fucking her titty tips, her big nipples were always on end, she could see no change in her body.
Janet turned sideways in the mirror and took in her profile. Her breasts hung outwards and down. They were full and smooth, nicely sculpted. Her hips were trim and smooth, and the only parts of her body, which were pure creamy white, were her buns and a narrow strip of pelvis. She'd been sun bathing in the nude on the honeymoon in the Islands, and she'd been more than willing, as Tom had requested her to, to bathe nude except for the bottom of her bikini.
Her cunt was different though, but not from the outside. It was something she couldn't quite describe. It was always a little juicy these days. It used to get wet only when a boy stroked her mammaries and fingered her clitoris and the environs. But now, if she just thought about sex, her interior flesh cave began to swell and secrete juices. She liked that.
Her legs were smooth and shapely. The thighs were ample, the flesh of her loins soft and supple, her knees cute, her calves sculpted, and her ankles narrow and slender. She had small feet.
And thus, with her own personal inspection complete, Janet started to reach for her wedding ring. 'Well,' she was saying to herself, 'no sex until Tom gets home from work. But maybe I'll just go and visit him for lunch. I bet he'd like that.' She had the ring close to her finger when the doorbell rang. She put the ring back on the soap tray and rushed to her new bedroom to put on her housecoat.
She slipped into the Navy blue silk gar-met. It broke at the middle of her thighs, and the lapels left her big luscious chest wide open. She tried to close it tight, and then rushed to the living room to answer the persistent doorbell. 'Hello, already,' she said, opening the door.
It was a man in a three-piece suit, a young man, and he carried a brief case. 'Good day, Mrs. Tibbleton,' he said. 'My name is Anchors, and I'm with the Insurance Company? Your husband suggested I speak with you about some sort of maternity coverage.'
'Oh, yes,' said Janet. 'Come in. Come in. I wasn't expecting you so soon.'
Janet closed the door behind Mr. Anchors. She led him to the living room sofa and offered him coffee which he turned down. 'No thanks,' he said, 'but if you wish to…'
'Don't mind if I do,' said Janet. She came back from the kitchen a moment later and sat in a chair across from him. 'Well, Mr. Anchors,' she said, sipping her coffee, 'the kind of policy Tom wants me to have would include hospital and…' She leaned forward while she was talking and her housecoat fell open to reveal her long, full mammaries. Her titty tips, just as they'd been in the mirror, were erect and fully blossomed. The brown caps were enlarged and heated. Her smooth chest, where normally there would be cleavage, was blushing red. When she realized what had happened, she sat back and pulled her coat around her big titties. 'I'm sorry,' she said, 'I only just got up a minute ago, Mr. Anchors, and.”
'Why don't you call me Rick,' said the insurance salesman, his face aglow. 'It's better that way.'
'Yes, well, Rick,' she said, 'I only just got up and.' She crossed her legs and Rick Anchors couldn't help but get a strictly friendly look at Janet's sandy blond bush. The lips were slightly spread-he was able to tell in the instant he saw them-and there was a bit of shiny juice there as well. But in the next moment the beaver was hidden by soft loin flesh and thigh. He looked up with another bright-eyed expression. 'Why don't you come and sit over here, Mrs. Tibbleton, and I'll show you one of your, ahem, policies.'
'Oh, yes, of course,' said Janet, feeling her own blush begin to work down in her thighs. She stood up and came over to sit down alongside the insurance salesman. Her skimpy garment rose up high on her racy thighs and left most of her loins fully uncovered. There was a snatch of beaver showing just under the hemline. Mr. Rick Anchors brought out the policy. He rested it between the two of them, on her thigh and his. ^You see right here,' he said, pointing to the fine legal print, 'that you would be fully covered, even for twins. In all regards, this is the best policy…'
The longer he spoke, the more bored Janet grew. She didn't know why Tom had left her with the responsibility of figuring out what insurance to have. She didn't really give a damn. And as far as Rick Anchors was concerned just then, he was having difficulty explaining the policy because he could smell the faint aroma of clit juice, a kind of sweet musky odor, and he was sure that it came from his prospective client's twat hole, only inches from his hand where he held the legal document. A moment later he could no longer resist the temptation to run an experimental finger up Janet's thigh and into her loins.
'Oh, Mr. Anchors,' she said, 'I thought you'd never do that.' She didn't know what she was saying. She was only just married, but the feeling of sex outweighed the fact. She was married too young, she said to herself as she
