The Damsel in the Congregation: Part 5.
It's time for a leap of faith.
Based on a post by KikiKisses. Listen to the ►Podcast at Explicit Novels.
He pulled the box out of his pocket. He decided not to kneel, this felt right. "Rosalie, you put this song in my heart. I never knew I could love anybody, or be loved. I drowned in those big brown eyes the minute I saw them, when you poured your soul into mine. These last six weeks have been the happiest in my entire life, and I'm only sorry it didn't happen sooner."
Rosalie dried her tears, but it didn't matter because more took their place. "Ever since I first heard you play, it has been well with my soul. You have taken away my sadness. And you are so incredibly lovable, you sweet man. I want to listen to your music for the rest of my life."
James opened the ring box, and Rosalie cried harder as he slipped the delicate twinkling diamond on her tiny finger. "Will you marry me, please?" She nodded, catching her breath, before whispering "Yes. Of course." She looked at the ring, even though she didn't even care what it looked like because all she wanted was to be his. "It's so pretty," she whispered.
"I thought it was very sweet and unique. Just like you."
She kissed him. "Now, can we;" she jerked her head towards the bedroom. He laughed and swooped her up. He wasn't especially big or strong, but she was just the right size for him. He carried her to the bed and she wiped her eyes once more, physical feelings finally overtaking the emotional.
They kissed softly at first, befitting the occasion, but it didn't take long before their standard after-work lust returned. Their tongues went mad as he tried not to pop the buttons off her blouse or tear the seams as he pushed it off her shoulders while she yanked at his tie and untucked his shirt.
Their breath grew heavy and loud with the occasional grunt of frustration as the metal zipper on her tweed skirt got stuck. She couldn't unbutton his shirt fast enough, and her fingers forgot how to undo his belt buckle. He had to look when he unfastened her stockings, there was no way he could do it blind, although he had learned how to reach behind and twist her bra fastener with one hand so it snapped off quickly.
She pushed him onto his back and straddled him. She removed her garter belt and threw it, then leaned down and pressed her tits against his chest, kissing him. He used to be self-conscious about his narrow shoulders, his lack of muscles, but she relished his body.
She sat up, her pony tail swinging, inviting him to touch her. He couldn't decide on his favorite part of her body, but when she was grinding on him while he looked up at her, it was hard not to choose her tits, which fit in his hands as though they were made to measure.
Her nipples looked like little chocolate kisses, and tasted even better. He squeezed her and played with her nipples, pulling her down to him so they could drop into his mouth. He started pushing her underwear off her hips, then flipped her over on her back, tugging off her panties while she panted, unzipping his pants. He kicked them off, then lifted her legs off the bed so he could nestle his face between them.
He wasn't sure how they had figured this out, but once they did it was heaven for both of them. He ran his lips over her hairy mound before diving into her swollen, pink flesh that was already incredibly wet with her luscious nectar, grabbing her hips as she opened her knees and pressed her feet into the bed. Sometimes he started slow, but they were so worked up he just dove in, finding her hard little bud and licking it over and over as she writhed beneath him, whispering encouragement in between whimpers and grunts.
He pushed his face into her, devouring her delicious moist flesh. She let out a sound halfway between a cry and a moan as her body lurched and her thighs clamped around his head. She set him free, and as he started to lay on top of her she rolled him over again, pushing herself down onto his erect cock with a satisfied groan.
His cock was average, and he had always worried it wouldn't please a woman, which she lovingly told him was dumb. "I'm small, do you think I want a huge one splitting me in half?" Whether she was joyfully pumping her mouth on his cock or enjoying his energetic thrusting, she always moaned "It's perfect! You fit perfectly!"
They had even figured out how to make her come during intercourse when he was on top, which he had learned was a matter of skill, not size. And it didn't work for everyone. But it did for them. They couldn't believe how many ways you could have sex, and they were all excellent, as far as they could tell.
She coaxed her orgasm out, a combination of grinding back and forth, hitting the back just right, while pumping up and down that she had perfected. She needed James to play with her tits, which he was happy to oblige. Her nipples were sensitive, they had discovered the first time, and he licked his fingers, then pinched, rolled, flicked and rubbed the tips with his thumb.
Her moaning got louder and he felt that combination of joy that came from the incredible intense pleasure of her engulfing him in her warmth, pulling a climax from him the way a magician pulls a rope of handkerchiefs, more and more and faster and faster until he exploded in bliss, mixed with the look on her face that was almost like pain as she convulsed and cried out before crashing on top of him.
They laid there, panting and gasping for a while, clutching each other as they whispered a combination of post-coital pillow talk and declarations of pure love. He held her, finally, kissing her face and staring into her enormous brown eyes before she turned for him to spoon her, and they laid with their bodies pressed together, his knees folded into hers.
"Do you want; a wedding?"
"What do you mean?" Rosalie asked.
"I; figured you'd want to get married as soon as possible. But Reverend Russell started talking about music, and bridesmaids; and I realized I have no idea how much planning goes into something like that. I don't want to take a wedding away from you just because I wasn't man enough to be more careful. I know most girls dream about it."
"I dream about you." Rosalie kissed the bicep her cheek was resting on. "I just want to be with you. How soon can we get married?"
"We can get married at the courthouse the same day we get the license. But if you want Reverend Russell to marry us we can get married Saturday afternoon. Is that enough time?"
"That's fine with me. I might go buy a dress. Not a wedding dress, just something new. It would be nice to have music but I don't really like the idea of you playing at your own wedding." She laughed. "You'd have to keep standing up and walking and sitting down; maybe you should do it. It would be a great story to tell the kids."
"Kids;" he repeated softly, squeezing her and kissing her cheek. "Let's just tell him two o'clock. Do you have anyone you want to stand with?"
"I'm not super close with any of the girls here. I would hate to pick one over the other. Maybe we can just get Mrs. Russell to sign the paper."
"I wish Reverend Russell could just be my witness." James sighed. "That's what I get for not making any friends. I guess I'll think of something."
When James arrived at the church on Saturday, he was surprised to see an unfamiliar woman sitting at his place at the organ. She had white hair with the faintest touch of bluing, a kindly face and wore a pink print dress. She looked like an Easter egg. "I'm Mrs. Minkie, from First Baptist up the road. Well, Only Baptist" she chuckled. "Reverend Russell said you were needing an organist for today and I told him I'd be pleased as punch to help out. Congratulations, son. She sure is a lovely little gal and I know you'll be very happy."
Tears sprang into James's eyes as he shook her hand. Rosalie had certainly brought out his emotional side. He managed to blink them away and thanked her profusely.
"Do you have any requests?" The ceremony wouldn't start for at least a half an hour, and James lived close. "Let me just run home, I'll only be a few minutes. I didn't know you would be here." James bolted out the door and came back with some sheet music, which he thrust into Mrs. Minkie's hands. "Do you think you could play this when she comes down the aisle?"
Mrs. Minkie's eyes twinkled as she looked it over. "I think so. Do you mind if I practice a bit?"
Mrs. Russell was zipping Rosalie up in the woman's restroom. The bride had found an emerald green taffeta dress with white fur collar and cuffs at Fielder's Department Store; on discount, since it was after Christmas. She then went to the bridal shop and asked if she could purchase a simple veil, just the veil. She found one with a white fur band, and they talked her into a pair of white pumps, trimmed with little fur pom-poms, to go with it. Rosalie looked striking in green, with her dark hair and big brown eyes. She didn't want to make a big fuss with her hair but agreed to have it styled so her natural wave would have more curls as it hit her shoulders.
James had bought her a small nosegay of white roses, which she held on top of a small, white Bible Mrs. Russell had given her. She was touching up her red lipstick when she heard the organ playing a familiar song she couldn't quite place. She had met Mrs. Minkie earlier, and was happy they would have some music. She didn't want to say anything to James, but in her heart she did hope they would have someone play. It was his playing that made her fall in love with him, and there would be a big hole in the ceremony if there wasn't any music.
At two o'clock Mrs. Russell touched Rosalie's shoulder and told her it was time. She looked the bride over and felt a tear in her own eye. Rosalie was such a little slip of a thing, she looked so radiantly happy and beautiful. She shook her head thinking of James. Rosalie had changed him. No, she had brought out of him what was already there. That's what it was. A man who played the way he did had to be burning on the inside. Rosalie cracked that asbestos exterior, somehow.
Rosalie slowly walked down the aisle. Reverend Russell stood at the front, with James at his left. He had bought a new suit, with a beautiful green tie from Rosalie. Mr. Lipscomb, the caretaker, stood next to James, as his witness. Mrs. Minkie brought her grandson Ronnie along to take pictures; he was on the yearbook staff at his high school. There were no other guests.
That song; she had heard it playing through the doors; and now it accompanied her as she walked into the sanctuary. Suddenly, she realized. It was "Rosalie." Played on the organ, instead of the piano, and played by a woman who could read the notes, but could never interpret it as skillfully or soulfully as the man in love who wrote it. But it was still the prettiest song she had ever heard. Her big, brown eyes filled with tears, and she reached inside the little white bible for the handkerchief she had tucked there.
She reached the front, and James took her hand. They recited their simple vows, echoing Reverend Russell's words, and before they knew it he had pronounced them man and wife, James had kissed his brown-eyed bride, and they were walking back down the aisle. Mrs. Minkie played "It is Well With My Soul," the hymn James played the day Rosalie knew she loved him. She looked over at him, and her eyes overflowed, her tears flowed into his heart and threatened to spill out of his own eyes.
Mrs. Russell had fixed a white layer cake with a few piped on roses, and they had cleared the back room for a small reception. Reverend Russell sat down across from the couple, who were trying to show enthusiasm for the cake and the kindness they were being shown, but it couldn't outshine their passion for each other.
"So, what are you planning on doing next?" asked Reverend Russell. James almost spit out his cake, and Rosalie blushed crimson. "I mean, did you decide where to live? And if you'll keep working, Rosalie?" James swallowed his mouthful of cake. "Oh." Rosalie squeezed his hand and answered, "We've decided to live at James's for now. It's much more convenient for both of us. And I'll keep working as long as I'm able. But once the baby comes, my hands will be full for a long time."
Mrs. Russell sidled in next to her husband. "Would you like more?" James had never had so many probing questions directed at him in his entire life, and he shifted in his chair. They hadn't even talked about that yet, and they certainly weren't going to discuss it now. Then he noticed she was pointing towards the cake, and they politely refused. "I'll wrap it up and send it home with you."
Reverend Russell smiled at his wife conspiratorially. "As you know, my wife is the church secretary. It's not full time. But she's been thinking about retiring. If you want, Rosalie, she could show you around and when you feel able, you could take over her duties, if you are interested. The wages are fair, and we have a nursery here. You could bring the baby."
Mrs. Russell chimed in. "You know we don't have any children of our own. I'd be happy to watch the little one whenever you need. It would be a blessing to us."
James and Rosalie look at each other, and squeezed hands. "What a kind offer," Rosalie whispered, her eyes brimming again. "Thank you," said James. "We will talk it over, and let you know." But they both knew the other would say yes. Rosalie would even say it was an answer to prayer.
They stayed long enough to be polite, then took their coats and walked out the door, forgetting the cake, forgetting everything but each other. They decided not to go anywhere for a honeymoon, just back to James's little house. The next two Sundays the choir would sing acapella, mediocre, because he would not be there.
He carried her over the threshold, marveling, once again, at her lithe little body, how she fit so perfectly in his arms. They kissed deeply and tenderly at the door, and he carried her all the way to the bedroom, setting her down softly.
"Will you play for me, James?" He was surprised by her request, but went to the living room and began to play Clair de Lune as she quietly removed her veil and shoes, and snuck off to the bathroom. He heard her coming and switched to "Rosalie" as she came up behind him, putting her hand on his shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek, and massaged his back as he finished playing, then stepped to the side so he could see her.
She wore a white negligee, sheer, with lace cleverly positioned as a wink at modesty. He could see her chocolate drop nipples and her dark hair peeking through the lace like a thin curtain, and he couldn't decide what was swelling more, his heart or his cock. Love was remarkable, that way.
With her hair tumbled over her shoulders she looked like an angel, a goddess. He just stared at her, dumbfounded by his luck. His blessing, she would say. "Do you like it?" she whispered, her big, brown eyes wet with emotion. He couldn't speak, he just pulled her to him, his face at her tit, kissing her hand, looking up at her radiant face, then lifting her and carrying her again.
He couldn't believe it. A year ago she had disrupted his peace, sitting in his sight line, those brown eyes rushing against the dam of his heart, breaking him, flooding him. Not even two months ago, they finally swam together in her ocean of happy tears. How could she be his bride? A man who never even had a friend was suddenly, stupefyingly, permanently entangled with a woman who defied description, except in music.
Her head was on the pillow and he hovered over her, suddenly clumsy and shy even though they had done this dozens of times. She gently rubbed his cheek, staring into his kaleidoscope eyes that had shifted to gray-green. "Kiss me, James," she whispered. The tenderness of this moment was unbearable to both of them, and they both cried, their hot tears mingling and flowing into their mouths.
She was never shy about taking charge, but tonight she just wanted him to make love to her, gently and sweetly, allowing herself to be swept away on the current he had swirled in her heart. He kissed every bit of her face, smoothing her dark hair, moving softly down her neck. There was no urgency. They had all night, all week, the rest of their lives. He admired her body through the negligee, sweeping his hands over the sheer fabric and gently squeezing her tits.
"If I forgot to tell you before, you look gorgeous. Earlier too."
She kissed him. "You did, but I forgive you. You look rather handsome yourself."
He had discarded his jacket in the living room, and she started to loosen his tie.
"Finally, a little color. Whoever bought you this tie must have exquisite taste."
He chuckled, and winked at her.
"The suit was a nice surprise, too."
James realized his drab wardrobe no longer felt like him, and decided to buy a new suit, not just for the wedding, but to celebrate his new life. It was dark tweed, but had colorful threads running through it that would pick up the hue of almost any tie, satisfying his need for practicality and her preference for a little color. And he had it tailored. Turned out in the right clothes and with a fresh haircut, James was a handsome man.
"I thought a beautiful bride deserves a half-way presentable groom."
He kissed her, breaking off long enough for her to lift his tie over his head, and she slowly began to unbutton his shirt. There wasn't much of hers to take off, so he decided to help out, unbuckling his belt and sliding off his loafers, using his toes to push down the top of his dress socks. He was still sitting on the bed just gazing at her. She was trying to just let him lead, resisting the urge to just pull him on top of her. Finally he pulled off his shirt, kicked away his pants, and laid next to his bride.
He kissed her face and neck again, and kissed her tits over her negligee, but decided enough was enough and sat her up just long enough to lift it over her head. She was naked underneath, and he took a few moments to just gaze at his lover's perfect form. There were her sweet, perfect little tits, just right for her delicate frame. They fit right in his hands.
The first time he touched them he couldn't believe the way they felt. So soft, with a little bounce, and her perky little nipples puckering against his hands. He hadn't really imagined it before, figuring he'd never have the chance, so why torture himself with the possibility? What a fool he was. But he was also glad, because Rosalie's tits were perfect, and he didn't want to see or touch anyone else's.
Her belly was soft, and her navel was adorable. He loved tickling it with his tongue when he made his way down her body, a little side trip before the main event. Her patch of dark, curly hair always made his groin surge, because of what it was hiding. He rubbed her thighs, inside and out, and ran his hands down her cute little legs and cupped her tiny feet before moving back up her body.
She closed her eyes and just enjoyed the way he lifted and squeezed her tits. He was taking them in like it was the first time he'd ever seen them. She was amused by the way men seemed hypnotized at the glimpse of a pair, and delighted by the power she wielded with them. James was already a quiet man, but the sight of her tits seemed to pull all reason from him and paralyze his tongue, at least until he bent his head down and began to lick and suck.
Everything he did to her was her favorite, but her sensitive nipples were always what tipped lovemaking from good to great. Touching her nipples made her hips roll, her toes curl, made her body beg. It didn't hurt that James was a pianist and a singer. He had complete mastery over his fingers and tongue, and it gave him mastery over her as well. It was incredible to both of them how fast they went from inexperienced virgins to experts on each other's bodies. He pulled orgasms out of her the way a conductor coaxes an aria from a diva.
Every squeeze, every flick, every nip and suckle traveled down and sparked between her legs. She was sopping wet, she wasn't wearing any panties to keep it from dripping onto the bed. It was torture, and it was delicious, and she didn't want it to stop but she needed it to stop, her body was arguing with her. Finally her tits and her clitoris called a truce, and she shuddered all over. Her eyes flew open, and James looked shocked. Rosalie didn't say a word, but she raised her head and kissed James, long and sensuously, and gave him a look that said "my turn."
He laid his head down, and she hovered over him, kissing all over his face and neck, crawling on top of him and scooting her way down, kissing his chest, his belly, worshiping him. He had confided in her how hard it was for him to believe he deserved love, and it was her delight to give it to him in every way she could think of. She pulled down his boxer shorts, nestled herself in between his legs and kissed him on the little space where his belly met his groin, the crease where his leg and hip joined, and the inside of his thighs.
James was breathing hard. No matter how many times she did this, he was astounded by the miracle of it. That something like this existed, and that he had found a woman who loved him and would do it to him. Not just that, but that loved to do it for him, rejoiced in it.
One of the reasons he had never wanted to get married was because he was afraid of disgusting his wife, of wanting to do things she didn't want to do. He was so uncomfortable in his own skin, why would he want to inflict it on someone else? But here was this gorgeous girl, pulling his cock into her mouth and treating it like a delectable treat.
One of his favorite things about it was the way she would lift up her enormous brown eyes and look at him while she did it. He was already quivering and she had barely started. He tried to sit up on his elbows so he could watch her, but he finally had to admit defeat and lay his head down as she bobbed her head and cradled his sack.
She moved her other hand up his leg and set it on his hip, and he laced his fingers through hers. He started to whimper, he was so close, but he wanted to finish inside his bride, he wanted to lay her down and look into her eyes and find that angle that made her gasp, and bring her to climax, feeling her squirming beneath him.
He squeezed her hand and said her name, and she gave one more long suck before laying her head on the pillow, her hand still holding on to his erection, she didn't want to let go of it. He raised himself up between her legs and looked once more at his bride; his wife. She was now his wife.
Her dark waves spread on the pillow, her begging brown eyes gazed, her cheeks flushed with the heat of her need, her tongue moistening her full, red lips. Her neck and chest were flushed too, above her jutting tits, her chocolate nipples puckered with desire. Her vulva was parted, her curly hairs were soaked, and her little pearl was glistening. He started to rub it but she shook her head. It was too sensitive from her previous orgasm when he sucked on her nipples. "Please, I'm ready," her voice cracking with hunger. She gently guided him in and gasped, that first plunge always so thrilling to them both.
He came fast the first time they made love, his naive body unable to cope with the extraordinary feeling of her warm velvety wetness. He thrust madly, his brain mush, bursting chaotically, like a pinata. She hadn't ever done it either, so she was perfectly happy with his inept pumping. It wasn't too hard to make her come with his fingers, he just had to listen and do what she asked. But there was a learning curve here. They figured it out pretty quickly, a perk of their constant fucking.
They developed the patience to practice, and before too long he had figured out a certain angle, a way of holding his legs, bracing his feet against the foot board, that created the perfect amount of outer friction and resistance and hit her on the inside in such a way that brought forth orgasms so strong he was surprised her tiny little body was capable of producing them.
He did this now, and she closed her eyes with anticipation. Every other time they had made love he was James, her beau, her boyfriend, her lover. But now he was James, her husband. She wrapped her legs around his waist, grateful for his medium frame, and his perfectly average cock that fit her and filled her just right. It was perfect, he was perfect.
He had learned shallow, slow thrusting built delicious anticipation. When she started to thrust back against him, whining and whimpering, it was time to go harder, but still slow. It drove her mad, building steadily inside her, making her writhe. She forgot who she was, where she was, everything except his hardness unraveling her. She clung to him. "Oh god, oh god! Yes James, please! More! More!"
It was divine torture, his cock was on fire, her velvet tunnel tugging at him, his nerves electric, her sweet little body humping against him. He knew when she became incoherent she was almost there, a final gasping cry as she spasmed against him and he let himself go. He didn't have to pull out anymore, and they both thrilled that he could fill her up again, for now.
This might have been their strongest finish yet, the bonds of matrimony adding an extra splash of ecstasy to their already vast ocean of love. Rosalie cried again, pressing him to her, kissing his chest and shoulders, begging him to hold her forever. He cradled her face and promised her again, in the privacy of their bed, their bed, not his bed, to have her and hold her 'til death they did part.
Based on a post by KikiKisses, for Literotica.