77

I think she actually went out when she heard what I said. When she recovered she was in my lap, kissing and crying until she went to sleep.
Did we jump into her bed and make passionate love?
No. She was still damaged and fragile, so I held her until she cried herself out, took her to my bed and tucked her in, then went out on the back deck, looking at the stars and wondering what happens next. I was out there for over an hour.
When I came back in, she had gotten a shirt out, put it on, and crawled back into bed. When I lay down she snuggled into my arms, mumbled something that sounded like ‘love you’, and drifted off again. I held her for a long time, reveling in her feel, before I finally dozed off.
I woke up alone, to the smell of breakfast. She was flitting around the kitchen, getting everything perfect. I startled her when I swept her off her feet, kissing the back of her slender neck. She stiffened at first, then relaxed and giggled.
“Let me go, honey, or all you’ll have for breakfast is burnt waffles.”
After breakfast, before she cleared the table, we talked. It was Saturday, and we had no where to be.
She snuggled into my lap.
“Honey, you know I love you. Please go slow with me, I’m carrying around a lot of baggage.”
She told me the story of her life, in between tears and hugs. She’d been happy until she was ten, when her dad died. Her mom was never a strong person, and she slide down a slope of depression and bad choices into a sea of alcohol. She had a stepfather and several live in boyfriends. When she was fifteen one tried to rape her. She fought him off and told the school. They took her away from her mother and she spent the next three years in foster care, and juvenile hall. She had stolen a car, desperate to see her little sister, nine years younger. It was the first time I knew she had a sister. When she turned eighteen, the system turned her loose.
She ended up with a guy out of desperation. She gave him her virginity. Apparently it was borderline rape ever time they were intimate. Then he tried to get her to hook for money. She ran away, and ended up here.
My heart ached for her.
“I want you so bad I ache, Jace, but I freeze up. Help me?”
So I did, even got her a therapist. Four months later it happened. We’d been getting closer, touching, talking. She got comfortable enough to walk around in tiny little panties and a tank shirt, and wear slinky little gowns to our bed, which she hadn’t been out of since the first time I put her there.
Amanda didn’t like alcohol, but had developed a fondness for wine from our client. After a half bottle one night, the flood gates opened.
I still took it slow, the first time. I kissed all the way down to her center, stopping to pay attention to her throat, earlobes, breasts, nipples, and her belly button. She was so worked up that when my tongue found her clit she exploded immediately, screamed, and ground my head into her.
“That was, that was…” she got out, gasping and holding my head. She screamed again five minutes later before she pulled me up, crying. She shoved me over, climbing on top.
“Like this, baby, please. I need to be in control.”
She was so tight it took three minutes to fit inside her. Ten minutes later she was slamming into me as I exploded, screaming again and crying my name. It was the most out of control control I’d ever seen. She collapsed onto my chest, out cold.
The next morning she woke me up, tugging gently on my cock, which was rock hard.
“Can we play again? I’ll let you drive.”
She had her first orgasm missionary, crying out in pleasure. It led to full blown screaming when I took her from behind, her heart shaped ass firmly in my hands. She was so small I almost couldn’t see it under my huge hands. We both collapsed when we were done and went back to sleep. She woke me up tugging my erection again. I could easily get used to this kind of alarm clock.
“Will you do the behind thingy again for a while, then let me drive?”
She came twice before she slid on top of me. Five minutes later her ass was a blur, pounding up and down as I gripped her, thrusting back just as hard.
We skipped riding that day, the thought of bouncing on the seat of bike being too much on her sore bottom.
We lay around until about three, when I made her get dressed. She drove if we took the Dart, unashamedly proclaiming it her car. We went to the mall, and I dragged her into a jewelry store.
“Pick,” I said, standing in front of the engagement rings.
“Really?” she said, the tears already flowing.
“Really,” I said, dropping to a knee, “now you know why I wore the suit. Marry me.”
After she sobbed out a yes and calmed down, I think she tried on every ring in the store in the price range I could afford. She finally settled on a simply stone and band, not the most expensive, but the one she wanted.
…
When we walked into the bar, an instant party erupted. The women immediately huddled, leaving the men standing.
“What are they doing?” I asked. The men laughed.
“Planning a wedding, you idiot. The best advice any of us could give you is agree to everything she wants, if you can afford it. And stay as far away from them as you can.”
…
She wanted a church wedding. We found one close, but part of the deal was we had to attend services for at least six weeks before the wedding.
It turned out to be a very good thing. The reverend was a pretty smart old guy, and he insisted on a few counseling sessions first. The disaster that was my first marriage came out along with all the stuff that happened to her. She cried for me, looked me in the eye, and said she would never do that to me. I believed her. We ended up being members, not going every week, but pretty often. I accused her of using it as an excuse to buy more dresses. She hardly ever wore anything else except when she worked. She wanted to keep her job, so she’d have money of her own.
“The first time you say I don’t look good in dresses, I’ll stop wearing them.” she said smirking. Now she has so many she rotates, putting the off season ones in the other bedroom.
I can still shut my eyes and see Amanda walking down the aisle. The ivory lace and silk dress hugged her like a second skin, highlighting her shape. Her thick mane of hair fell down her back, shining in the light.
Helen stood in as mother of the bride. Sam gave her away. Fat Boy was my best man. Everyone from my job was there except Gail, and almost everyone from the bar attended. They escorted our limo to the airport on their bikes.
Mom was there. She fell hard for Amanda, she had always wanted a daughter. Amanda warmed up more slowly, but when we left, she leaned in and said something that brought fresh tears to her eyes. I asked about it on the way to the airport.
“I said ‘thank you Mom, for sharing your son. I’ll return the favor with your grandchildren.’ It seemed to make her happy.”
Then she distracted me by showing me hints of her wedding lingerie.
…
We honeymooned in Belize, because I had been to Cancun on my first honeymoon, and I did not want overlapping memories. I found out it was the first trip out of the country Amanda had ever been on. It was actually the first trip anywhere.
We had a ball. We hit the beaches, and she stayed under the umbrella a lot, her fair skin not caring much for the hot sun. I loved to watch her red hair shine as she walked. She shocked the hell out of me by dragging me to a topless beach. Amanda took off her cover, clad only in a tiny thong.
“Shut your mouth, honey. I wanted to give you something to remember. Me walking around almost naked while men drool over me, knowing that no one but you will ever touch me, should do it.”