“We were Tyler and Georgy before, but it’s different now; now we’re more; now we’re going to be husband and wife. In every way that matters you’re already my husband, that ring made it so, and as I’m your wife, I want our first time as us to be the first, best time ever. Come here and be my husband, Ty, please.”
When she put it that way I had no choice but to comply; no more banter, no more horseplay, this was serious, she’d never been more serious, and I’d never been more in love with her as I was right then. She was right, this was a special time, this was us making love as the new us.
Exploring Georgy’s body was always going to be my first and favourite pastime; every inch of her was worth examining in minute detail, usually with a lot of giggling and a certain amount of tickling, but not now; now, I just wanted to make love to the most beautiful girl in the world, and she was right up there and on-board with that too, it didn’t get any better than that. Until it did.
“No Tyler, let me…” she murmured, when I went to pull her to me, eager as I was to once more make love to my girl. I relaxed as she kissed her way up my body, starting with teasing my navel with her tongue-tip, the feel of her sweet, gentle little kisses on my body, teasing, erotic, and agonisingly exquisite, fluttering against my skin like the softest touch of butterfly wings. She reached my throat, my neck, and goose-flesh erupted up and down my body as she gently kissed me in places I never knew could arouse me so much. My cock was straining for her, but she avoided even brushing against it, concentrating instead on driving me wild with just the brush of her lips against my overheated skin.
“Georgy…” I croaked, lust and need for her almost overwhelming my senses.
“Please Tyler, just this once, let me…” she breathed, never once letting up in her feather-light assault on my senses.
Now she was lying next to me, her kisses decorating my chin, my cheek, the scent and feel of her the only things in my suddenly narrowed world; she was all there was in my world, all I needed, all I wanted. When her lips finally found mine I almost groaned at the exquisite torture, the mental anguish of her nearness, her kisses lighting up my brain and making my head spin. As her lips sealed to mine my hands found her, holding, squeezing, fondling her, and now she was lying on top of me, her hands holding my face as we kissed long and breathlessly, her body slowly wriggling against mine, grinding my hardness between our bellies, torturing me with what she knew I wanted to do.
I felt her lips curve as she smiled, and her knees slip over my side, and then the pressure was gone, and loss crashed through me, no, I couldn’t believe she’d take me there and then abandon me, until I felt her holding me, aiming me, and then the hot, damp, succulent pressure surrounding me as she slowly took me into herself, loving me the way she knew I wanted to love her.
I gasped as I slid into her, echoing her hissing intake of breath. My hands slipped down to hold and caress her strong, sleek thighs as she rode me slowly, deliberately, taking her time to make this the most memorable ever.
“I love you so much… my husband!” moaned Georgy, grinding and riding me, while I gritted my teeth and held back, wanting her to get as much from this as she was giving me. I never just have sex with Georgy; I make love to her, my whole heart is wrapped around hers when we join. It’s never recreational or for fun, it’s a re-affirmation of who we are and what she means to me, and she shows me in a thousand ways that’s what it means to her too, and so it was now, me making love to the girl who was going to be the mother of my children, come Hell or high-water.
“I love you too, my darling wife!” I gasped, holding her and marvelling at the sleek, muscular smoothness of her thighs as she redoubled her efforts, taking us to that place where ecstasy dwelt.
“Oh God, Georgy, what are you doing to me?” I groaned as she clasped and released me, the rippling heat of her vagina taking me higher and higher even as she flushed, her eyes squeezed tight shut even as her mouth dropped open, gasping as she hammered herself against me, drawing me in, milking me, until:
“Ohh God! Yess, yess, yess, YEESSS!!” she screamed as the thunderbolt of orgasm shot through her, electrifying her. I was right there with her, all my efforts to hold back, to pleasure her first paying off, but I couldn’t hold back any longer as I to came like lightning, like molten iron, like molten lava, pulse after pulse of boiling hot spunk spraying out of me and deep into her, coming harder than I ever had before, filling my girl, my wife with my tribute.
Georgy slumped down on top of me, her heart thundering against mine, while her scent, sweet, sharp, a beguiling blend of arousal and fresh summer sweat mingled with the more subtle undertones of her own unique girl-scent in an exotic, intoxicating scent complex surrounded me and played hob with my nervous system. I was completely blown, my muscles twitching and trembling in reaction to the gigantic climax that had raged through me, and Georgy was no less exhausted, her body draped across mine, limp and unresponsive.
I don’t know how long we lay like that, lost in the afterglow of our mutual orgasm, until my softening cock slipped from her, drawing a soft hiss from her.
“Oh my God, Will, that was… oh my God…” mumbled Georgy, kissing my chest and slowly slipping off me, to lie in the crook of my arm.
“We aim to please, Mrs. Wilmot, service with a smile, I hope it was to your satisfaction?” I ad-libbed, and grinned as Georgy kissed my chin and patted my stomach.
“You did passably well, Mister Wilmot, I hope this is a taste of things to come?”
I pulled her into me so I could kiss her properly.
“Every day, and three times on Saturday, wife of mine!” I grinned.
*****
Aunt Kay showed no surprise when she spotted the ring on Georgy’s finger, rather a tiny smile and an arch lift of her eyebrow as she first pecked Georgy on the cheek, then turned to me.
“Congratulations, children, I’m so pleased for you both, and Tyler? It’s about time, I’m not getting any younger, you know! I expect you’ll find a more suitable engagement ring soon, dear, there are so many fine rings to choose from in the family collection, or perhaps something more bespoke; ‘La Chatelaine’ is a beautiful, meaningful, very historic symbol but it’s hardly suitable for daily wear, dear.”
*****
Work soon commenced on our new project house. Georgy had a particular image of how the interiors should be presented, and while we were not hampered by any listing or grading requirements for the exterior, unlike the last place we’d renovated, we decided the classic Georgian facade was something we wanted to preserve and inform the renovation of the interior. I’d had an in-depth structural survey done, and the architectural engineers were happy that the structure was stable and sound, just bare-arsed ragged, so we could begin the mammoth task of rebuilding the interior.
As before, the reclamation sites far and wide got wind of what we were doing, and what we’d probably need, and watching Georgy argue and bargain mercilessly over piles of timber, pallets of old Georgian Fletton brick, and crates of door furniture was a joy to behold. Because the brick was reclaimed, it was usually caked with old mortar and render, so Georgy would beat them over the head to get rock-bottom prices for them because we had to clean them up, and we’d spend whole days with hammers and bolster chisels doing nothing but chipping all that old crud off the bricks to get them clean and ready for reuse. My sweet girl was an absolute shark; I spent a lot of time with a huge grin on my face because of the way she bit suppliers’ arms off if she thought they were pulling a fast one, and I was absolutely enchanted at the way she was taking the lead on this project.
As before, we began with the basics; the place had no connection to the electrical mains, no mains gas; the plumbing, what little there was, was 300-years old lead pipe, so it would all have to come out, and there was no sewage provision, not even earth-closets, just a collection of long-defunct outhouses. The roof and chimney stacks were close to collapsing, so new bracing, trusses, and slates, and new lead flashing around the rebuilt chimney stacks, and the damp in the cellar needed to be addressed before anything else happened.
An architect provided us with a set of drawings that allowed us to make changes to the inner fabric of the building, but the first task was getting experts to plumb and wire the house, and argue with the water-board over the price of clean water mains connection, a weeping tile and herringbone drainage network, and grey water and soil and sewage pipes trenched down to the main sewer and storm drains out under the main street of the village.
While the licensed specialists were doing their thing, Georgy and I got down to restoring what we could of the original High-Georgian interior. The rooms were all grandly proportioned, with high ceilings and tall, elegant windows, and had once had tall, double-leaf doors, of which only the splintery, rotted-out jambs and sills remained, but it gave us a good idea of what they were supposed to look like.
The actual windows and doors would have been the kind of imposing, slightly over-scale appearance we’d come to expect of the period, so a large part of our time was spent in deciding what the door and window architraves, capping, and skirting boards should look like, and then reworking more of the stripped reclaimed doors and wood to make them fit our vision.
Georgy had another brilliant idea, one I should have expected from her; if we couldn’t get genuine over-scale Georgian doors for the four grand reception rooms, and having them made to order was ridiculously expensive, then maybe we could take one of the smaller Victorian doors, they were readily available from the paint stripping places, pull it apart, and copy it. The style was exactly the same, they were just smaller, so maybe we could copy the door panelling, stiles, rails, and mullions, just proportionally wider and taller instead of filling and bodging those imposing over-sized doorways and installing smaller, clumsy-looking, out-of-scale doors; we already had routers, chop-saws and table saws, we knew how to measure and cut, we could probably do it ourselves.