Claire and James go on their honeymoon. 9th chapter of this series
It’s been a week since I married Claire, and it was finally time for our honeymoon. Her dad had paid for a lovely and luxurious trip to the romantic city of Paris.
The tags were on, and our leather suitcases sat tightly zipped by the front door. After a frantic week of post-wedding cleanup and final checks, Claire and I were officially ready.
We stepped into the first-class cabin, and the quiet luxury immediately shut out the chaotic noise of the airport boarding terminal. A flight attendant greeted us by name and led us to our private adjoining suites, where a fresh bouquet of white roses was already waiting for Claire.
The seatbelt sign chimed off with that soft ding. Claire’s hand was already there, warm and eager through my pants, her fingers tracing the outline of my half-hard cock.
“Bathroom,” she breathed against my ear, her voice barely audible over the jet engines. Her eyes had that look—the one that started back when she was just my boss’s barely-legal daughter and I was thirty-five and her dad’s employee. Now she was nineteen, a month pregnant with our kid, and wearing the skirt I’d picked out specifically because it rode up when she walked and she loved how it made me look at her.
“After you,” I said, letting my hand brush the small of her back as she stood, feeling the shiver that ran through her at my touch.
I followed her down the aisle, watching the sway of her hips, the way the fabric of that skirt barely covered her ass. She wasn’t wearing underwear. I’d mentioned that morning that I’d love knowing she was bare under there, and Claire—enthusiastic girl that she’d become—had grinned and slipped them off right in our bedroom. The thought made me harder, thickening against my thigh as I noticed a businessman in row 14 glance at her. Her tits were huge now, swollen and heavy, straining against a tank top that had fit her three months ago, and she carried them with a new confidence that made her glow.
“Lock it,” I said, already spinning her around gently before the latch clicked as we entered the bathroom.
“James, I’ve been thinking about this—” she started, but I had her skirt up, her ass bare against the cool plastic wall, my fingers sliding through her folds before she could finish, finding her already soaked.
“Christ, you’re wet,” I muttered, my voice dropping to that rough register she loved. “Bend over, beautiful. We’ve got ten minutes.” I unzipped with my other hand, my cock springing free into my palm, already throbbing for her.
“Maybe less,” she laughed breathlessly, already bracing her hands on the tiny sink, her reflection catching mine in the mirror. Her face was flushed, lips parted, those blue eyes wide and eager. Her tits—fuck, her tits—strained against the thin cotton, nipples hard and visible, dark circles spreading where her milk had already started leaking slightly, staining the fabric in a way that made my mouth water. “Someone’s gonna need to pee.”
“Then we’ll have to be quick,” I said, lining up and sliding into her in one smooth stroke, burying myself to the hilt in that tight, wet heat that always felt like heaven.
She gasped—loud, too loud for the tiny space—and I clamped my hand over her mouth gently, my palm tasting like the peanuts they’d served twenty minutes ago.
“Quiet, baby,” I growled against her ear, pumping slow and deep, the sound of our bodies meeting filling the space. The bathroom shook. The mirror rattled against the wall. “You want the flight attendant to hear how good I’m making you feel? You want everyone on this plane to know how much my wife loves my cock?”
She shook her head, eyes wide and sparkling in the mirror, but her cunt squeezed me tighter, fluttering around my shaft. She loved it—the risk, the secrecy, us sharing this dirty little secret at thirty thousand feet.
I reached around with my free hand and tugged her tank top down, letting her tits swing free. They were heavy now, milk already beading at the nipples. I cupped them both, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks until she moaned against my palm.
“Your tits are already dripping for me,” I said, my voice rough with awe, thrusting harder. The plane hit a patch of turbulence and I used it, driving deeper as we bounced, knocking her forehead gently against the mirror. “You like that?”
“Yes,” she whimpered, pushing back to meet my thrusts, her ass rippling with each impact. “Only for you. Only when you—when you fuck me like this—”
“Good girl.” I kept pounding, the wet slap of flesh against flesh loud in the small space. “Take it, baby. Take every inch. You feel incredible.”
“Oh god, I’m close,” she panted, her fingers white-knuckling the sink. “James, I’m gonna—”
“Not yet.” I pulled out suddenly, the loss of heat making me ache, spinning her around with gentle hands. Her pregnant belly pressed soft and round against me, her tits crushed between us, milk smearing wet and warm across my shirt. “On your knees, beautiful. I want to see you taste us.”
She dropped immediately, eager, her mouth opening like she was starving for it. I guided my cock between her lips, tasting her pussy juices on my dick, and she moaned around the shaft- making me feel as fucking incredible as ever
.
I tangled my fingers in her hair—she’d grown it out specifically because I loved feeling it in my hands—and started moving slowly, watching her eyes water with pleasure, her throat working to take me deeper with each thrust.
“That’s it,” I panted, my hips stuttering. “Fuck, you look gorgeous like this. You love this, don’t you?”
She moaned her agreement, spit dripping down her chin onto her tits, mixing with the milk that leaked steadily now, her hands gripping my thighs.
“Occupied?” We both jumped on the sudden knock.
Claire’s eyes went wide, playful panic dancing in them. I stroked her hair and came down her throat with a groan, holding her head gentle but firm against me, pumping load after load while I called out in a voice that sounded almost normal: “One minute!”
She swallowed eagerly, coughing softly, milk and cum glistening on her lips in the most erotic mess I’d ever seen. I tucked myself away with shaking hands, pulled her up, and kissed her hard—tasting both of us, metallic and sweet—before opening the door to find a shocked elderly woman waiting with her hand raised to knock again.
“Sorry,” Claire giggled, fixing her skirt, her tits still half-out, nipples dark and wet, looking thoroughly fucked and happy. “Morning sickness. You know how it is.”
The woman stared at her chest, then at me, then back at Claire’s obvious pregnancy bump. She made a small *oh* sound and hurried away, blushing.
Mr. Shell had very generously booked one of the most expensive hotel overlooking the Eiffel Tower. We were greeted with champagne and some expensive chesse at the reception. Then a guy took our luggage to the honeymoon suite.
We didn’t make it to the room.
The elevator doors closed with a soft chime and I had Claire against the mirrored wall, her reflection multiplied into infinity behind her. I lifted her easily—she was light, even pregnant, all her weight concentrated in her tits and belly—and pinned her there.
“Wrap your legs around me,” I said, already hard again for her.
“James, the camera—” she protested weakly, but her thighs opened for me immediately, her ankles locking at the small of my back, her eyes daring me.
“Let them watch,” I moaned playfully, pulling her panties aside—she’d put them on at some point, I’d have to remind her how much I preferred her without—and sank into her wet heat in one thrust. She was slick from earlier, still open and ready from the bathroom, and I bottomed out immediately, both of us groaning.
The elevator rose. I bounced her on my cock, her tits in my face, milk already leaking through her bra in wet spots that smelled sweet and thick.
“Fuck, you’re dripping,” I groaned, sucking her nipple through the fabric, tasting that pregnant milk for the first time that day. It was different than regular milk—thicker, sweeter, somehow more intimate. “Making a mess already, wife?”
“Yes,UGH yes—” she gasped, grinding down on me, her nails digging into my shoulders through my shirt in the best way. “Harder, please. I need it harder, I need you—”
I slammed her against the mirror, the glass fogging with our breath, her pregnant belly soft between us. The elevator dinged—fourth floor, then fifth—and I didn’t stop. We were newlyweds. Let them see how much I adored my wife.
We stumbled out on our floor, still connected, me carrying her down the hall with my cock buried in her, her arms around my neck, whispering filthy, loving things into my ear that made me harder with each step: “Your cum is running down my legs, James. Everyone will know. Everyone will see how much you want me. Your pregnant wife—”
“Damn right I want you,” I growled, dropping her on the hallway carpet outside our door, not even waiting to get inside, not caring about the keycard in my pocket. “Ass up, baby. Now.”
She rolled over immediately, arching her back, presenting that perfect ass that I’d first noticed when she was just a kid fetching coffee. I yanked her skirt up and plunged back in, finding her from behind in the hotel corridor, her tits swaying beneath her, milk dripping onto the carpet in fat drops as she pushed back against me.
“Someone’s coming,” she gasped, her head turning toward the elevator, but she didn’t stop pushing back, didn’t want me to stop.
“Then you better cum first,” I said, reaching around to find her clit with gentle but firm fingers, rubbing her in tight circles while I pounded her with deep, steady strokes. “Cum on my cock, beautiful. Let me feel you. Let them hear how good I make you feel.”
She did—loudly, wailing my name as her cunt spasmed around me, milk actually spraying from her nipples in thin streams, lactating from the force of her orgasm. I grabbed her hips and emptied myself into her, filling her up, watching my cum leak out around my shaft and drip onto the expensive hotel carpet.
The door across the hall opened with a soft click. An old man in a robe peeked out, glasses askew, staring at us.
I waved, still inside her, still connected.
“Just married,” I said with a grin.
He retreated quickly, the door closing with a slam, and Claire dissolved into giggles beneath me.
The room was supposed to have an ocean view. We didn’t see it for three hours.
I had her on the king-sized bed first, on her back, legs spread wide, looking at her pregnant body—messy hair, swollen tits, round belly with the faint line running down the center, wet cunt glistening with my cum and her milk, absolutely beautiful.
“Touch yourself,” I said, stroking myself back to full hardness, wanting to watch her. “Show me how my wife plays with her pretty pussy.”
She obeyed, two fingers circling her clit, eyes locked on mine, biting her lip. “Like this?”
“Faster.” I watched her, fascinated, already hard again. “Dip your fingers in. Taste yourself.”
She did—sliding her fingers into her soaked entrance, then pulling them out glistening, sucking them clean with a moan that went straight to my cock. “I taste like us,” she said, her voice husky. “Like you mixed with me. Like married.”
“Good.” I climbed over her, straddling her chest, guiding my cock between her tits. “Hold them together for me, baby.”
She pressed those heavy milk-laden breasts around my shaft, soft and warm and wet with leakage, and I thrusted between them, watching the head peek out from her cleavage, her mouth open below waiting to catch the drips.
“Play with your nipples while I fuck your tits,” I said, my voice hoarse with want.
She pinched her nipples and white streams shot out, hitting my cock, her chin, the pillow beneath her head. Messy. Wet. Perfect. I used the milk as lube, sliding faster between her soft flesh, her tongue darting out to lick my tip each time it emerged from her cleavage, her eyes never leaving mine.
“Please,” she begged, her eyes watering, her face flushed. “Put it back in me. Fill me up again. I want to feel you—”
I flipped her over—ass up, face down, exactly how she loved it best, how she could take me deepest. Her belly rested on the mattress, her ass presented high, cum and milk and spit making her glisten in the afternoon light streaming through the curtains we hadn’t opened. I didn’t wait. I mounted her, driving deep, hearing the breath leave her lungs in a sharp gasp of pleasure.
“There,” I growled, angling my hips to hit that spot, that perfect place inside her that made her toes curl. “Right there. Taking me so deep, baby. You were made for this.”
“Yes, yes, yes—” she chanted, pushing back, her ass rippling with each impact. “Don’t stop, James. Please don’t stop—”
I grabbed her hair gently, pulling her head back just enough to arch her spine until she was looking at me upside down in the mirror across the room. “You’re incredible,” I told her, meaning it. “My gorgeous wife. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” she cried out, her voice breaking with pleasure. “Your pregnant wife, your girl, yours—”
I came hard, flooding her again, holding her hips flush against me as I pumped rope after rope into her. She came with me, milking my cock with her spasms, her own orgasm making her shake and leak more milk onto the sheets until they were soaked with us.
We collapsed. Five minutes. Maybe ten. The air conditioning clicked on, blowing cool air over our sweaty skin.
“Again?” she asked, looking back with those eyes I couldn’t resist, her hair tangled, her lips swollen and smiling.
I was already getting hard, stirring against her thigh.
“Turn over,” I said. “I want to see your face while I take your ass this time. I want to watch you enjoy it.”
She smiled, spreading her legs wider, reaching back to spread herself for me eagerly.
“Yes, husband,” she said. “Whatever you want. I love it all.”
The next morning, we finally made it to the balcony.
Claire was bent over the railing, her pregnant belly resting on the cool metal, her tits hanging heavy over the edge, her ass presented to the whole goddamn beach below. The ocean crashed against the shore fifty yards away, tourists lounged by the pool, and there was my wife, naked from the waist down, my cock sliding between her lips while she touched herself, both of us watching the people below.
“Look at them down there,” I said, gripping her hair gently, guiding her head. “All those people. None of them know you’re up here getting your mouth fucked by your husband who can’t get enough of you.”
She moaned around me, the vibration making my knees weak. Her fingers worked faster between her legs, wet sounds mixing with the ocean breeze.
I pulled out, leaving her gasping and smiling, and spun her around. “Hold the railing,” I said. “Don’t let go.”
She gripped the metal, her knuckles white, her tits swaying as I entered her from behind. The height made it different, the angle sharper, and she cried out immediately, loud enough that someone on the beach below looked up.
“Wave to them,” I laughed, slapping her ass playfully, pounding her hard enough to make the railing shake.
She did—raising one hand in a shaky wave, her other hand still gripping the metal, her face turned toward the beach with a smile that was pure joy and sin.
We spent six days like that. Making love on every surface. The mini-bar, where I took her from behind while she ate the complimentary chocolate strawberries, moaning with her mouth full, chocolate smeared on her lips as she pushed back against me. The shower, where the water ran cold because we’d used up the hot water hours ago, neither of us caring as I held her against the tile. The desk, where I signed for room service with my cock still buried in her throat while she knelt under the table, her pregnant belly pressed against my shins, her eyes sparkling up at me.
The pool guy saw us through the window on day two. Claire was riding me reverse cowgirl on the lounger, her pregnant belly bouncing, her ass gorgeous in the sunlight because I’d been preparing her, touching her, making her feel good. I waved. He waved back, a slow smile spreading across his face. She didn’t stop grinding, too lost in her pleasure to care.
“Your tits are leaking again,” I mentioned casually, mid-stroke on the balcony lounger on day three, the sun setting behind us.
“Then drink them, baby,” she panted, arching her back.
I latched onto her nipple right there, sucking hard, tasting that sweet pregnant milk while I thrust up into her. She rode me cowgirl, tits in my face, belly between us, milk spraying everywhere when she came, soaking my chest, her chin, the lounger cushion. Messy. Wet. Perfect. Ours.
We got “caught” by housekeeping on purpose on day four. Claire was face-down ass-up on the bed, my cum leaking from both holes, her pregnant body marked with my handprints and love bites, the sheets destroyed with our pleasure. The maid screamed. Claire waved cheerfully, her face turned toward the door, cum dripping down her thigh, looking thoroughly satisfied. I told the maid to leave the towels and get out, then went back to making Claire feel good, fucking her throat gently until she came again, drooling all over the already-ruined sheets, her whole body shaking with pleasure.
The beach at night. The cabana bathroom where we broke the lock because we couldn’t wait. The resort’s “family friendly” hot tub at 3am—Claire underwater giving me head while tourists slept in rooms above us, her hair floating around her like a halo, her lungs burning until she surfaced gasping and laughing, climbing into my lap to finish what she started.
“Two more days,” she whined on the last morning, bent over the bathroom sink, tits pressed to the mirror, watching herself get loved in the reflection. Her eyes met mine in the glass, desperate and hungry and happy. “I don’t wanna go home. I wanna stay here forever. Just like this.”
I kept thrusting, slow and deep, my hand gentle in her hair, my thumb stroking her scalp. I watched her pregnant reflection moan, her belly pressed against the counter, her tits swaying with each thrust. “Wife,” I said, the word still new and perfect in my mouth, “I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you feel this good. That hasn’t changed.”
She came moaning my name, and I emptied my balls into her one last time before checkout, holding her hips, burying my face in her neck, smelling her shampoo and sweat and sex and love.
“Best honeymoon ever,” she whispered later, dressed finally, her hand in mine as we waited for the elevator.
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