I still cannot forget that moment from the very first night. That night, my pussy was itching with desire, and I was desperate to get fucked for the very first time; however, my husband used fatigue as an excuse, did nothing that night, and simply went to sleep. Deeply disappointed, I drifted off as well. But the next morning, when I woke him up with my wet hair, my husband’s passion was through the roof—and thus began the first and most memorable fuck of my life. That morning, he fucked me completely—so ruthlessly that my pussy tore and bled—and by the end of the day, he had fucked me five times. This is the unique and true story of my honeymoon night—a tale filled with the full thrill of the 69 position, cock-sucking, anal sex, and ruthless fucking.
Part 1: The Wedding Day and the Disappointment of the Wedding Night
It was my wedding day. The entire house was abuzz with festivity and music; it was crowded with relatives, and there I sat—adorned as a bride, looking like an angel. All the rituals had been completed. The pheras (ceremonial rounds) were over, and the time for the Vidai (farewell ceremony) had arrived. There were tears in my eyes, a storm of emotions raged within my heart, and a strange sense of anticipation coursed through my body—for the first time, I was about to be alone in a room with my husband.
At that moment, I was dressed in full bridal regalia. I wore a heavy red lehenga (skirt)—embellished with golden zari work that shimmered under the light. On top, I wore a deep-cut choli (blouse) that clearly revealed the curves of my fair, voluptuous breasts. My hands were adorned with deep red mehndi (henna)—within which my husband’s name lay hidden. Anklets jingled on my feet; a mangalsutra rested around my neck; earrings hung from my ears; a nose ring graced my nose; and a beautiful maang-tika adorned my forehead—further enhancing the radiance of my face. My hair hung loose, interwoven with strands of flowers. My hair parting was filled with sindoor (vermilion), a mark that now bestowed upon me the status of a married woman. When I gazed at my reflection in the mirror, I found myself utterly captivated by my own beauty. I wondered to myself—what would this night hold? Would my husband find me desirable?
After all the wedding ceremonies had concluded—once the pheras were done, the touching of elders’ feet was complete, and the Vidai rituals were over—that moment finally arrived. I was escorted to my husband’s room to join him. A few elderly women accompanied us to the door; they offered their blessings and then, smiling gently, took their leave. As the door closed behind them, silence descended upon the room—broken only by the sound of our breathing.
The room itself had been decorated with exquisite beauty. Red and white rose petals lay scattered across the bed. Candles flickered in the soft, dim light—their flames lending a romantic aura to the room. The air was infused with the intoxicating scents of sandalwood, rose, and perfume. In one corner stood a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Moonlight streamed in through the window. Witnessing all this, my heart began to pound even faster. For the very first time, I was alone in a room with a man—and that man was my husband. The man with whom I was to spend my entire life, and to whom I was to surrender my entire body.
I sat down on the bed—right on the very edge—and adjusted my veil. From behind the screen of my veil, I surveyed the room. My breathing grew rapid, and my entire body trembled—with fear, with excitement, and with restlessness. I wondered to myself: What will my husband be like? Will he treat me with tenderness? Will he fuck me hard? Will it hurt a lot? I had heard from my girlfriends that the first night was often very painful, and that there was usually some bleeding. Thinking about all this made me even more terrified. My pussy—which had never allowed anything inside it until this day—was about to be penetrated by a man’s cock. The mere thought of this sent a jolt of electricity coursing through my body.
A short while later—perhaps fifteen minutes later—the door opened. Slowly, silently. My husband walked in. I stole a glance at him from behind my veil. He was tall—about five feet ten inches—fair-skinned, with a strong, well-built physique. There was a light dusting of hair on his arms, and his chest was broad. He was dressed in a white sherwani, with a turban tied around his head. He looked incredibly handsome—like a hero straight out of a movie. Seeing him, my heart began to race even faster. A spontaneous smile bloomed upon my lips. He locked the door from the inside and slowly—taking deliberate steps—walked over to me.
He came and sat down right beside me—pressing his body against my thigh. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body. Gently—with immense tenderness—he lifted my veil. His eyes locked directly with mine. A deep, loving smile played upon his lips. He gazed at me—staring intently—as if he wished to absorb me into his very being. Then he spoke: “You are incredibly beautiful. Truly—you look nothing short of a celestial nymph. I am so fortunate that you have become my wife.” Hearing his words, I blushed crimson with shyness and lowered my gaze. I couldn’t utter a word—the words seemed to catch in my throat. I simply sat there in silence, fidgeting with my hands.
He took my hands in his and asked, “Are you tired? It was a very long day today—the pheras, the rituals, everything. There is weariness in your eyes.” I nodded gently in affirmation. In truth, I was utterly exhausted. All the wedding rituals, staying awake all night, and meeting so many relatives—it had all completely drained me. My feet ached, my back hurt, and my eyes felt heavy with sleep.
My husband spoke—and what he said came as a complete surprise to me: “I am very tired today as well. My friends really teased me mercilessly, and I had to stand on my feet all day long. Since you must be tired too, let’s not have sex tonight. We’ll just talk for a while, and then we’ll go to sleep. We can do everything tomorrow morning, when we’re both fresh and rested.” I was astonished by his words—though, at the same time, I felt a tinge of disappointment. I had always thought that the first night of marriage was supposed to be the most romantic and filled with intimacy. Everyone talks so much about the suhagraat—the wedding night. But my husband seemed to have something else entirely in mind. On one hand, I felt relieved that I wouldn’t have to endure any pain tonight; yet, on the other, I felt a strange sense of unease stirring within me. My pussy was itching—a strange, ticklish sensation—and deep down, I was desperate to get fucked. I wanted him, but out of sheer embarrassment, I couldn’t bring myself to say a word.
My husband then began to remove all the jewelry from my body, one piece at a time. First, he took off my maang tikka—gently, without tugging at my hair. Then my earrings—the right one first, followed by the left. Next, my necklace—unfastening the clasp at the back. Finally, my bangles—one by one, while caressing my hands. With the removal of each piece of jewelry, he would touch that specific part of my body, letting his fingers linger and trace over my skin. Then he untied the drawstring of my lehenga—at the back—and slowly, gradually, eased the heavy garment away from my body. The lehenga slid down and pooled on the floor. Now, I was clad only in my choli, bra, and petticoat. He removed my choli as well—unbuttoning it from the back. Now, I was left wearing nothing but my bra and panties.
My fair, voluptuous, and utterly smooth body now lay exposed before him—save for the bra and panties I still wore. My breasts—shapely and round—were held captive within my bra, their fullness clearly visible. My nipples stood erect, pressing against the thin fabric of the bra. My fair, smooth, and ample buttocks were concealed beneath my panties, yet their distinct shape was clearly defined. And my pussy—hidden beneath the panties—was already wet, simply from the sheer anticipation. My husband gathered me into his arms—a deep, warm, and tight embrace—and lay down, holding me close. My back was pressed against his chest, and my buttocks nestled against his stomach.
He then proceeded to remove his own clothes—first his sherwani, then his shirt, and finally his pajamas. However, he kept his underwear on. Yet, I noticed that beneath his briefs, his cock was fully erect, bulging outward like a towering tent. I realized that he desired me too—just as much, perhaps even more so—but perhaps due to fatigue, or perhaps because it was my first time, he didn’t want to do anything today. Maybe he was tired, or maybe he simply didn’t want to intimidate me.
We kissed each other for a long time. His lips were incredibly soft and warm—pressing against my lips, my cheeks, my neck, and then back to my lips again. His tongue parted my lips, and our tongues began to entwine. We tasted each other’s saliva and sucked on each other’s tongues. His touch—his fingers tracing over my back, my waist, and my buttocks—shook me to the very core. The warmth of his hands seemed to seep deep into my skin. We began to talk—about ourselves, our families, our dreams, and our plans for life after marriage. He asked me about my favorite foods, the movies I liked to watch, and the places I enjoyed visiting. I was gradually beginning to feel at ease. Yet my body—specifically my pussy—was, in a way, constantly craving more. I wanted him to fuck me, but he just kept talking. Slowly, my eyelids began to grow heavy. The heat rising within my body was screaming for sex; my pussy was wet, and I desperately wanted my husband to fuck me. But my husband had already fallen asleep—his deep, steady breathing signaling his slumber. What could I do? Disappointed—deeply disappointed—I rested my head on his shoulder and drifted off to sleep as well.
Part 2: Morning Passion and the First Fuck
Morning broke. The sun’s first rays were streaming in through the window, and the room was gradually filling with light. When I woke up, I saw that my husband was still fast asleep—snoring away. I thought to myself, Come on, let’s disturb his sleep—let’s get back at him for not fucking me last night. I got up stealthily—absolutely silently. I listened and realized that Didi hadn’t woken up yet, and the house was completely silent. I went into the bathroom and took a thorough, hot shower. I washed my hair with shampoo, and it was still wet—water was dripping from it. I lathered my body generously with fragrant soap, scrubbing myself thoroughly, and cleaned my pussy extra carefully as well. After my shower, I put on neither a bra nor panties. I wrapped a large, soft, and thin white towel around my body—just enough to cover my breasts. The towel reached only to the cleft of my ass, leaving my thighs completely bare. With my wet hair flowing freely, I walked back into the bedroom.
Drops of water from my wet hair were trickling down onto my shoulders, my neck, and my back—cool and utterly delightful. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt incredibly sexy. My wet hair scattered across my face, my fair neck, my body wrapped in nothing but a thin towel—I looked just like a movie star. Down below—beneath the towel—my pussy was already getting wet, simply at the thought of going to my husband.
I thought to myself, He fell asleep last night, but waking him up this morning is going to be absolute fun. I approached the bed slowly—moving with absolute stealth. My husband was still shifting in his sleep, his eyes remaining closed. I positioned myself at the head of his bed and began shaking my wet hair directly over his face—vigorously and playfully. Cold drops of water—one by one—began to fall upon his forehead, his eyes, and his cheeks. He stirred slightly at first, then rolled over, and finally, his eyes fluttered open. The moment he saw me hovering directly above him with my hair cascading down—and felt the water droplets on his face—he sat up abruptly in startled surprise. He was now wide awake.
As he rose, he made a swift lunge to grab me—catching hold of my wrist. Laughing and squealing, I pulled back, struggling to wrench my wrist free. In the ensuing scramble—amidst the dodging and tugging—the towel wrapped around my body came loose; it unraveled, and then—in a single instant—it slid to the floor. Suddenly, I stood completely naked before my husband. My breasts were exposed—fair, full, and soft—with nipples that had hardened from the cool air and sheer arousal. My fair, smooth, and voluptuous buttocks were clearly visible, and my pussy—pink, sleek, and already moist—lay fully exposed right before his eyes.
My husband, too, was now completely naked. He hadn’t taken off his underwear the previous night before falling asleep—but by morning, those briefs had vanished entirely. Perhaps he had unconsciously stripped them off during the night himself, as they must have become uncomfortably tight against his erect cock. His cock—which I had only glimpsed inside his underwear the night before—was now fully exposed, standing tall and rigid like an iron rod, throbbing with intense vigor. It was remarkably long and thick—measuring about seven to eight inches—and possessed a slightly darker complexion. Thick, prominent veins bulged across its surface, appearing distinctly bluish beneath the skin. The head—the glans—of his cock was red and glistening, and upon it shimmered a few drops of pre-cum—transparent and slightly sticky.
When my gaze fell directly upon that massive, erect, and rigid cock of his, my throat went dry. My mouth went completely parched, and out of sheer terror, my entire face flushed crimson. I began to wonder: not even a single finger had ever entered my pussy until this very day; I had never allowed anyone inside me before. Such a huge, thick cock—how on earth would I be able to take it? The moment this thought—this fear—crossed my mind, I was seized with panic. My entire body began to tremble—my hands shook, my legs shook, and my lips quivered. I wanted to flee—to run into the bathroom and hide—but my feet seemed frozen to the spot. I was unable to move, standing there like a statue of fear.
Just then, my husband—realizing that I was frightened—rose and walked over to me. One step, two steps, three steps—and he came to stand directly in front of me. He gathered me into his strong, broad, warm arms—holding me tightly, very tightly—as if I were his very life. My naked breasts pressed against his bare chest. My nipples rubbed against the hair on his chest. Then he began to kiss me—first on my forehead, with great tenderness. Then on both my cheeks—left, right, left. Then on my neck—with gentle pressure, circling his lips as he went. And then—finally—on my lips. Today—that morning—was the very first time a man had ever touched my body in such a sensual manner—with such depth, such lust, and such love. He pressed my lips against his own, and then he slid his tongue into my mouth—deep, warm, and intoxicating. He had kissed me last night, but back then I hadn’t seen his cock, nor was I completely naked. Today—everything was different. Today—we stood before each other completely naked—exactly as we were born. There was no barrier between us—no clothes, no shame, no hesitation. Just two bodies—desperate to melt into one another.
I began to wonder—last night, my husband hadn’t taken off his underwear before falling asleep, so how had his cock ended up naked this morning? The implication was clear: he had—well in advance—hatched a complete plan in his mind to fuck me first thing in the morning. Perhaps he had slipped his underwear off while still half-asleep, or perhaps he had done so while I was taking my bath. It felt a bit strange to me—that he had gone to sleep last night, yet was now brimming with such intense passion—but at the same time, it felt absolutely wonderful.
After about five minutes—I was actually counting—spent kissing me deeply, sucking on my tongue, and pressing my lips firmly against his own, my husband shifted his entire focus to my breasts. Using one hand—his left—he began to vigorously squeeze one of my breasts (the left one)—clutching and kneading it—while taking the other breast (the right one) into his warm, wet, soft mouth and sucking on it. His hot, wet tongue swirled in circles around my nipple—first clockwise, then counter-clockwise. Then, he would gently—ever so gently—nip at my nipple with his teeth, before clamping it between his lips and tugging at it. As he did this, a strange, intoxicating sensation began to wash over me; my eyes fluttered shut, and I felt myself drifting into a state of complete ecstasy. He continued to squeeze, suck, and press my breasts—alternating between the two—one held in his mouth, the other in his hand. This sent a tingling sensation—like ants crawling—through my pussy; it felt as though something were fluttering deep inside me, and my pussy became completely soaked—positively dripping wet. I could honestly say that, in that moment, juices were trickling from my pussy, flowing down onto my thighs. This—the sucking and squeezing of my breasts—went on for quite some time. I was letting my husband suckle at my breasts; I had become completely consumed by desire for him. I tangled my fingers in his hair and pressed his head even more firmly against my breasts—as if I wanted him to devour me whole. He, too, was thoroughly enjoying himself as he clamped his lips around my nipples—my chuchuks—tugging and sucking on them. He would pull my nipple tightly between his lips, stretching it out, then gently release it—only to immediately begin kissing my lips, as if he were feeding me the very nectar of my own breasts. This playful game of his—moving from my lips to my nipples and back again—was driving me absolutely wild.
Slowly—very gently, while rubbing his hands along my back—my husband shifted his hands down toward my buttocks—my ass. He cupped my round, firm yet soft buttocks in both his palms—holding them like watermelons—and, squeezing them firmly, began to pull me closer until I was pressed right up against his cock. Now, his thick, hot, and hard cock—erect and rigid as an iron rod—began to thrust repeatedly against my pussy. The head of his cock grazed against my labia, rubbed against my clitoris, while the full length of his shaft slid against my belly and thighs. I was overcome by a strange sensation of ecstasy—of pure bliss. Inside, I was going out of my mind with desire. All I could think to myself was this: if only, somehow, that cock would slide inside my pussy and extinguish this restlessness—this burning fire within me.
But then—just as I was lost in the depths of my own fantasies—my husband changed his strategy. He spread my buttocks wide with both hands—pulling them apart—and rested a finger (his middle finger) right against my anal opening. There was no oil or cream—just the slight natural moisture of his finger. Slowly—yet firmly—he attempted to slide his finger inside my ass. I yelped instantly—a loud, sharp cry escaping my lips: “Ahhh! What are you doing? Why there? It hurts!” I struggled to break free from my husband’s grip—pushing against him with my hands, trying to pull my body away—but he was quite strong, and my resistance was futile. His finger had already penetrated about half an inch inside me. He began to move it slowly—in and out—teasing the opening. My husband whispered into my ear—softly, yet with intense warmth: “Just relax your ass. The more you clench, the more it’s going to hurt. Just relax… let it go.” Hesitantly—terrified, really—I did as he said. I released all the tension in the muscles around my anus—much like the sensation of holding back urine and then finally letting go. His entire finger—thick, warm, and slick—slid effortlessly inside me. The initial sensation was strange—as if a foreign object had invaded a part of my body where nothing had ever ventured before. But then—as he began to move his finger around—it actually started to feel good. The sensation of that finger inside my ass was incredibly strange and novel, yet at the same time, intensely arousing. Digging my fingernails into his shoulders, I let out soft, involuntary gasps of pleasure.
All the while—with his finger still deep inside me—my husband continued to kiss me incessantly: my lips, my cheeks, my neck, and my shoulders. He sucked and kneaded my breasts once again. He stroked my pussy with his hard, erect, hot cock, soaking up its wetness. And with his finger, he continuously prodded and stretched my asshole. All of this combined left me completely aroused. I was now a burning ember. My pussy—once again—began to gush. My juices—hot, sticky, slightly watery—now flowed down my thighs, wetting the white bedsheet. A large wet stain had formed there.
Now, wasting no further time, my husband pulled me onto the bed and positioned his body over mine in such a way that we ended up in the “69” position. This was a position I had previously only ever seen in porn. I was on top—lying over him—with my face turned toward his feet, and his face turned toward mine. My mouth was situated directly in front of his cock—barely an inch away—while my pussy hovered directly above his mouth, right up against his lips. He grasped my buttocks with his hands and pressed my pussy firmly against his mouth. Then, taking hold of my head—threading his fingers through my hair—he forcibly thrust his entire cock—specifically the head—deep into my mouth. I tried to keep my mouth shut and attempted to pull my head away, but his grip was too strong. He pushed it right in. I began struggling to keep his cock out of my mouth; yet, simultaneously—at the other end—he spread my legs wide apart, parted the lips of my pussy with two fingers, placed his tongue against it, and began licking my pussy vigorously. Above—his grip on my head; below—his tongue on my pussy.
It felt incredibly strange to me—for the very first time, I had a man’s cock inside my mouth—while, at that exact same moment, my pussy was being licked by that very same man’s tongue. The sensation was deeply contradictory—at once good and bad, acceptable and unpleasant, pleasurable and repulsive—all at the same time. Having my husband lick my pussy—with his warm, soft, and agile tongue—was immensely pleasurable; yet, sucking his cock—its taste, its texture, its warmth—felt somehow wrong and repulsive. I had never in my wildest dreams imagined that I would ever take a man’s cock into my mouth; it was something I had previously considered utterly inconceivable. But my husband was licking my pussy so well—with such passion, such dedication—his tongue touching every sensitive spot—that I couldn’t even bring myself to stop him. I just wanted to position my head properly so that his cock wouldn’t slide too far down my throat.
But he didn’t stop. He intensified the movement of his tongue against my pussy—now sucking on my labia, pressing against my clitoris, and thrusting his tongue deep inside me. The sensation was so incredible that every other thought vanished from my mind. I completely forgot that his cock was still in my mouth. And a short while later—I climaxed again—for the third time that morning. My pussy released another powerful gush of fluid—hot and copious—all over his mouth and face. He eagerly lapped up every drop of my juices. At that very moment—inside my mouth—a fountain of fluid erupted from my husband’s cock as well. Thick, white, hot, sticky semen flooded the inside of my mouth. For the very first time, I had taken a man’s cum into my mouth. I was instantly startled—my eyes widening in shock. My mouth filled with a salty, sticky, and thick taste—like a raw egg, but even thicker and stranger. I felt an overwhelming urge to vomit. I forcefully emptied my mouth, spitting all his semen—in one go—onto the bed. Even after spitting it out, the taste lingered in my mouth—salty and somewhat bitter. My face contorted with disgust; I felt panicked, and tears welled up in my eyes. I felt terrible—I just wanted to run away from there.
My husband immediately stepped in to comfort me—realizing that I was feeling nauseous. He reached for the water bottle kept beside the bed, unscrewed the cap, and began helping me drink. He said, “It’s your first time; don’t panic. Go to the bathroom and rinse your mouth out—thoroughly. You’ll be fine. This happens to everyone the first time. You’ll get used to it gradually, and eventually, you’ll start enjoying it too.” Trembling—like a fragile biscuit—I hurried off to the bathroom. I washed my face thoroughly with soap and rinsed my mouth out repeatedly—five or six times—before my mind finally began to settle. That taste was slowly fading away. Then, I drank some cold water. I looked at my reflection in the mirror; my face was flushed red, and there were traces of tears. A short while later, I returned to the room. My husband gathered me into his arms—holding me with both hands—and tenderly pulled me close against his chest. He ran his fingers through my hair, gently stroked my back, and repeatedly kissed my forehead. His affection brought me a sense of solace. Before long—in just a matter of minutes—I felt normal again, and completely recovered.
Now my husband asked me to suck his cock again—so that his member—which had gone a bit limp (since he had already ejaculated)—would become hard and erect once more. He said to me, “Now your pussy is about to get torn open—and for that, my cock needs to be ready. Suck it a little—gently.” I was still hesitating somewhat, yet—reluctantly and fearfully—I approached his cock. I took it in my hand—feeling its warmth, its weight, its hardness—and then, still timidly, I touched it with my lips, kissed it, and began to suck. But this time—something different happened. Within just a short while—perhaps a minute or two—I began to find immense pleasure in sucking his cock. All that revulsion, all that hesitation I had felt—it vanished into thin air. I was now sucking his cock with great eagerness, deep affection, and intense passion. I licked the head of his cock with my tongue—circling around it, exploring its contours and crevices. I took it between my lips and sucked vigorously—as if it were a sweet treat. I tried to take his entire eight-inch cock deep into my small mouth—and it slid all the way down, getting lodged in my throat. I coughed slightly—but I did not stop. After sucking continuously—for nearly five minutes—his cock became fully hard once again. Once more—as if by magic—it stood erect, rigid, and fully engorged, like a bar of iron.
Part 3: The First Penetration – The Cunt Tears, Blood Flows
Now—it was my cunt’s turn to be breached. That very cunt—which was about to be fucked for the very first time, which until now had remained a virgin. Out of sheer terror—absolute, overwhelming terror—I tensed my entire body rigidly, as if a snake had coiled itself around me. My husband noticed my fear—it was clearly reflected in my eyes. Gently—tenderly—he gathered me into his arms and began to reassure me: “Don’t be afraid, my love. You are my wife, and I am your husband. This is a first for me with you; this is my first sexual experience with you. I won’t hurt you—or if I do, it will be very little. There will be just a little—only a tiny bit—of pain… no more than a pinprick. But then—after that—it will feel incredible. So good that you’ll remember it for the rest of your life. Trust me.” There was such love, such reassurance, and such warmth in his voice—that, still trembling with fear, I looked up at him and slowly nodded.
He lifted both my legs—my fair, naked, smooth thighs—and placed them upon his broad shoulders. Now my legs were suspended in the air—resting on his shoulders—and my entire cunt—my pink, wet, soft, swollen cunt—lay fully exposed before him in a perfectly horizontal plane; completely open, like a blooming rose. It was wet—so very wet—like a shimmering lake. Its lips were thick and swollen, and peeking out from between them, my tiny clitoris—my little bud—gleamed invitingly. Every fold—every delicate layer—was clearly visible. My husband gazed at it for a few moments—staring, admiring its beauty. An exquisite smile played upon his lips. Then—he grasped his cock in his hands, straightened it, and positioned its glistening, juicy head right against the opening of my cunt—pressing it flush against the entrance. He parted my moist lips.
Before I could even gather my thoughts or utter a word, my husband delivered a powerful—a very powerful—thrust with his hips. In a single thrust, half of his cock—about four inches—tore through my virgin, tight, untouched pussy and buried itself deep inside. I was utterly devastated. A sharp, unbearable, burning pain shot through my pussy—as if a knife had been plunged inside—causing tears to instantly stream from my eyes: hot, copious, and fast. I began to scream at the top of my lungs: “Ahhh! I’m dying! Mom! Stop! Take it out! It hurts so much! Stop, please!”—and I began to weep as well, sobbing uncontrollably, breaking down completely. But my husband—in that moment—turned a deaf ear to my pleas. He was completely consumed by the frenzy of the act. He stuffed the corner of a sheet—a clean sheet—into my mouth to silence me, ensuring my screams wouldn’t escape and be heard by anyone else. I began to make muffled, guttural sounds and thrashed my limbs wildly, but I was powerless to do anything. He was far stronger than I was, and I was completely at his mercy.
At that moment—that morning—my husband was possessed by an insatiable lust. He simply wanted to fuck. Without a second thought—summoning every ounce of his strength—he delivered another forceful thrust. A second thrust—even more intense than the first, even deeper. This time, his entire eight-inch-long, thick cock—the largest I had ever encountered—slid into my pussy from tip to base; it went all the way in—completely, utterly, fully. It was entirely buried inside me. It felt as though someone had shoved a hot, red iron rod—a burning ember—deep inside my pussy. Every fiber of my flesh, every single nerve ending within me, felt as if it were on fire. From my pussy—accompanied by pain—blood began to trickle out; first a few drops, then a faint stream. The blood fell onto the white bedsheet, and small, round, red spots began to appear across the fabric. I kept weeping—though I could no longer scream aloud, as my mouth was now sealed shut. I was utterly helpless; my hands were clenching rigidly into the bedsheet, my legs were trembling against his shoulders, and I was left entirely at my husband’s mercy. I begged for his compassion—but was he the type to yield? No.
On the other hand stood my husband—a young, strapping man with the powerful, muscular physique of a wrestler—who, having finally encountered a real pussy for the very first time, was now fucking that milky-chocolate slit with unbridled intensity, thoroughly and ruthlessly. Like a wild bull, he continued to fuck me without a shred of pity or mercy. His thrusts were so forceful and rapid that the entire bed shook beneath us, its legs scraping and sliding across the floor. The only sounds echoing through the room were the wet, rhythmic slap-slap of our fucking—like someone repeatedly slamming wet clothes against a surface. His cock tore deeper and deeper into my tight, small, virgin pussy, while I—I writhed in agony, utterly overwhelmed by the pain.
Yet, after just a few minutes—perhaps four or five—I slowly began to settle down. Gradually—not all at once—my pussy began to grow accustomed to the size, thickness, and length of his cock. The pain began to subside—first a little, then a little more, and then even more. And in place of the pain, a strange, new, thrilling, and mysterious sensation—one of pleasure and delight—began to take hold. It was a sensation akin to rain falling for the very first time upon dry, barren, thirsty earth. I let my entire body—which until that moment had been tense, rigid, and stiff—go completely limp. I relaxed my muscles and lay back comfortably—spreading my body out across the bed. I was now taking every one of his thrusts—without resistance. And then—in just a matter of moments—I came quickly—very quickly—time after time. My pussy—for perhaps the very first time—released a long, hot, copious flood of wetness all over his cock. I lay there completely limp—panting, trembling, and letting out soft, low moans.
But my husband—he still didn’t stop. Not at all. He had placed his entire weight upon me, and continuously—without pause, without tiring—he kept fucking me. His pace had quickened even further now. His thrusts had grown deeper. His face was right up close to mine—his sweat was dripping onto me. His breath was hot against my throat. For a long while—at least another ten minutes—after fucking me hard and relentlessly, my husband finally let out a long, deep, and powerful groan—and right inside my pussy—deep within—completely—he cummed. His hot, hot cum—like heated milk—white, thick, and copious—washed against the walls of my pussy, and I felt its warmth deep within my core. His entire cock, still inside me, was contracting and throbbing.
Then, taking me by the hand, he led me into the bathroom. I was still limping in pain. He gently and lovingly cleaned my pussy thoroughly with lukewarm water—using his own hands—and also wiped away the sacred blood from my pussy that stained his cock. I was still moaning in pain, and both my legs were trembling uncontrollably in different directions. I could barely walk properly; I was staggering. My vaginal opening had stretched wide—and now, it simply wouldn’t close.
Then my husband picked up his phone—right in front of me—and took a clear photograph of my naked, red, swollen, and blood-stained pussy. With immense pride and affection, he showed it to me. He said, “Look—nothing bad happened. It’s perfectly fine. Look—how beautiful your pussy is. Now, you belong to me completely.” When I looked closely at the photo, I saw that my pussy had become completely swollen—turned a deep, purplish-red hue. The opening of my pussy—which had previously been no larger than a tiny dot—had splayed wide open, stretching to the size of an almond; everything deep inside—the pink, smooth walls—was clearly visible, looking just like a tube. My labia were heavily swollen and protruding outward, bearing faint red traces of blood. Seeing all this, I felt a deep sense of pity for my pussy—yet, at the same time, I experienced a strange sense of satisfaction. I had now—finally—become his wife in every sense. My maidenhood—my virginity—was now nothing more than a memory.
Part 4: Five Times Throughout the Day—Including Anal Sex
But all of this didn’t happen just once. I could barely walk—my pussy felt like it had been torn apart—and my legs were trembling; yet, my husband’s passion—his lust—had not diminished in the slightest. Throughout that entire day—spanning the night and the following morning—within a mere 24 hours—my husband fucked me five times. Five times. Four times in the pussy, and once—later on—he took me in the ass as well. When he first lubricated his cock with oil and thrust it into that delicate, tiny opening of my anus, I felt as though I would die right then and there. My ass felt like it was splitting apart—and I was screaming, I was crying—but he didn’t stop. Once again, he handed me the edge of the bedsheet to bite down on. But gradually—very slowly—I began to find immense pleasure in that, too. The sensation in my ass was completely different—utterly distinct from the feeling in my pussy. Tighter, and much hotter. With every round of fucking, my pain subsided, and my pleasure intensified. By now, without any hesitation, I was sucking his cock—and swallowing his cum—with great eagerness. I was riding him, fucking him myself, and letting him take me in the ass as well. By evening—by the time the sun had set—I was utterly exhausted; my bones ached, and both my pussy and my ass were swollen and red. Yet, on my face—intermingled with the pain—there was a strange sense of satisfaction and profound happiness. Lying there with my head resting on his chest—against his round, muscular torso—I reflected: even though nothing had happened on our wedding night, that morning—that single morning—had more than made up for everything. Five times—he fucked me hard—and I let him take me to my heart’s content. So, that was the unique, strange, and painful—yet true—story of my wedding night, and the morning that followed. It was a night where my husband did nothing at all, but the moment dawn broke, he completely—like a raging storm—fucked me. The deep disappointment of that night, combined with the untamed, boundless, and ruthless passion of that morning, together taught me—for the very first time—the true pleasure of fucking, and its real meaning. My husband positioned me in the ’69’ stance, licked my pussy, and then thrust his cock into my mouth and cummed. The first time, I felt utterly disgusted—I spat it all out. But the second time around, I actually began to enjoy sucking his cock—savoring its taste. Then, lifting my legs and resting them upon his broad shoulders, he thrust his thick, long, hard—8-inch—cock deep into my pussy and fucked me—a virgin girl—ruthlessly and vigorously. My pussy instantly tore open, and blood began to flow. Throughout that entire day—from morning till evening—he fucked me five times; during one of those sessions, he even fucked me in the ass—for the very first time. By the end of that day, I was completely—physically and emotionally—exhausted. Yet, despite the fatigue, my face bore an expression of profound, serene, and wondrous satisfaction—a satisfaction that only a wife can experience when she feels truly fulfilled by her husband. I hope you enjoyed this true and thrilling story of my first sexual encounter.