We had been on our honeymoon for three days, soaking in the sun on the beach for some of the time and getting acquainted with each other's bodies in the room for most of it. We'd make love for an hour or so each morning and then head to the beach where we'd read our books or watch the tanned semi-nude bodies; then we'd go for a smoothie at the lunch hut before scurrying back to our room to make love again.
It was a routine I was deliriously comfortable with, and Heather was right there with me. She was so happy being married, and her every movement showed she was loving the experiences we were sharing, experiences she'd always felt only married people should experience. Her demeanor had changed from how she'd been before our marriage, when she was nervous about doing too much and feeling guilty when she thought we had. Since the wedding three days ago, a light had come on in her head and in her body--one that seemed to burn hotter almost by the hour. As a happily married woman she glowed with a sexual desire that couldn't be cooled by guilt or self-reproach.
I had always loved Heather, and would have married her no matter what her desires were. Even if she'd remained inhibited after the wedding as she was before it I would have wanted nothing but to be with her always. What I was receiving on our honeymoon was a windfall, and I couldn't believe my good fortune. The best part was, she was acting this way because of the love and security she felt, not because she was some slut wanting to have sex with anybody and everybody.
That third morning marked my twenty-third birthday, and as we lay in bed Heather asked what I wanted. I mumbled something trite like, "Having you as my bride is my gift, baby."
"Oh, that is so sweet, my love. But I mean it. I want to give you something extra special today."
I thought of what I might really want. Having experienced so much closeness over the past few days and seeing Heather emerge as an eager pleaser, I took a chance and said, "Well...you could be my sex slave for the day."
I thought she might get offended by the remark, but instead she perked up instantly.
"Really? That's what you'd like?"
"Yeah. I mean...who wouldn't? You've been so geisha-like these past few days. It makes me feel special."
"We're married, baby. I want to make you feel special. Maybe we can call it a love slave."
I wasn't about to argue over semantics.
"We can call it a love slave, honey. That's exactly what it is."
I was laying in bed, listening to the waves crashing on the beach below while watching Heather bend over the dresser in her short nightie, exposing her white panties while picking through some of the sexy lingerie I'd bought for her over the past few days. A lingerie fashion show was the first thing I'd asked for from my love slave.
Heather tried on several outfits for me one by one, posing sexily in each.
"Do you like this?" she asked, bending over a chair in a panty and baby doll set while looking over her shoulder at me.
"Oh yes, lover. You look great in that."
A few minutes later she was posing on her knees at the foot of the bed, wearing thigh-high stockings, a red thong and an ivory camisole.
"How about this, baby?"
I gazed open-mouthed, zeroing in on the hard nipples straining against the silky camisole.
"So very beautiful," I said.
As the show continued she pouted and purred, teased and tempted, bending this way and that, thoroughly enjoying her newborn sexuality. She looked at me lying in bed, took notice of the bulge tenting the sheet, and smiled.
"Do you need me now, birthday boy?"
"I'll need you very soon," I said, watching her prance around the room in a tiny g-string and frilly bra.
