Page 50 of Stitch
Cammy
We walked to alocal pub for dinner, and ordered our food, before sitting at a table in the window, so we could enjoy the last of the evening sun.
“You ordered a vegetarian meal.”
I laughed at the look on my new husband’s face.
“Is that a deal breaker? Are you now rethinking our marriage, because I chose what I fancied, which just happened to be a meatless meal?”
He grimaced. “So you’re not anti-meat or anything? I like my steak bloody.”
“So do I, but the vegetarian lasagne sounded yummy.”
“You’re probably gonna need plenty of iron in your diet, to keep your stamina up. I plan to fuck you a lot before I die.”
Oh god. He was doing it again.
“Stop talking like that! For all we know you’ve got decades left, so stop putting a damn time limit on our life.”
He picked at the label on the beer he held.
“I’m just being realistic. We got married knowing that our time together is limited. No sense in thinking long term, but long term enough that I plan to fuck you at least a hundred times. So you see, we need to get on with it.”
“Your starters.” The poor waitress looked embarrassed as she stood beside us with our sharing platter. The poor woman must have heard at least the last few sentences and clearly wished she hadn’t.
“Thank you. Sorry for whatever you heard.” She blushed again, and Stitch winked at her.
“Don’t mind us, love. We just got married today, and I’m dying, so we don’t really have time to mince our words, see?” She gasped, and I felt tears suddenly burning my eyes.
I lurched up from the seat, and Stitch reached for me.
“Sorry, Jesus, I’m sorry. I’ll shut up, I promise.”
I dodged his hand, and headed for the bathroom, needing a few minutes away from him. On the one hand I didn’t want to waste a minute of our time together, but on the other, he was killing me with these comments.
The door pushed open and I brushed at my eyes, trying not to look like aweeping loser to whoever came in.
“I’m sorry, wifey. I’m such an asshole. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Dammit, Stitch, you can’t be in here! What if someone comes in?”
He grabbed me and dragged me into one of the cubicles, shoving the door closed, and twisting the flimsy lock.
“They’ll get to hear us fucking.” He slammed his lips against mine, and slipped his hand down, and up again, under the dress I still wore. He pulled back with a disgusted look on his face.
“Underwear? When the fuck did you put that on?” I shrugged, and pushed at his chest, not managing to move him even an inch.
“Stitch, we can’t do this here. You can’t.”
“Fucking can. Get those off so I can get at that pussy, Camille. I need to be inside you right now. We have ninety nine fucks to go, because I'm counting that epic blow job as the first.”
He lifted the front of my dress and held it in his teeth as he used both hands to shove my underwear down. Then I heard him undoing his jeans.
“Stitch! We can’t do that in here!” Suddenly the smooth head of his dick was rubbing against my clit, and I knew that we were going to do it regardless of the inappropriateness of the place, and the fact that our food was getting cold out there. Despite all of that, or maybe because of it, I was wet enough that one thrust seated him deep inside me, and he barely managed to get his hand over my mouth to quiet me.
“We’re gonna have to fuck fast and quiet, wifey. Don’t get us caught now. They’ll throw us out and we’ll starve. It’ll be all your fault.” Cheeky bastard. I giggled, and he shook his head slowly.
“Such a minx. You gotta stay quiet while you take my cock. Wow... I had no idea we’d consummate our marriage in the toilets of a small country pub, but here we go. The consummation begins now.” He tightened his fingers on my hip, and my dress hid our waists, but I could feel exactly what was happening, as he started ramming me hard.
