Fish Tank
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net

If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do something else.

This material is Copyright, 2002, Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping one electronic copy for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. I would prefer to do my own reposting, thank you.

If you have any comments or requests, please E-mail them to me at anon584c@nyx.net.

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Fish Tank
by Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net

Kimberly was waiting in a nightgown when he came out of the master bath. Before letting her by to have her own shower, he hugged her. "Happy anniversary, darling," he said.

"Happy anniversary, John."

He held a bottom cheek in each hand and squeezed gently while they kissed. She often complained of secretarial spread. A supportive husband, he applauded each attempt at reduction. (Actually, he enjoyed watching some of the exercises.) Still, he thought, she needn't bother; he loved the softness of her bottom.

She felt John's hands on her butt and his firmness against her body. "Des is still here," she warned. Saturday morning or not, fourteenth anniversary or not, they had to see their daughter off to day camp before they began that sort of anniversary celebration.

"Mom, come quick," Des called as if on cue. John shrugged into his robe.

"Second, darling," she called and reached for her own.

Des was in her room watching her fish tank. That had been the major gift for her thirteenth birthday. They'd had their doubts, but it was quite a success. Where they had feared that she would only feed the betta for maybe five days, five months later she was still providing all the care. Indeed, Des knew more about fish care by this time than either of her parents.

She knew more about fish in general, too. But she lacked her mother's empathy -- Kim hoped -- for this particular situation. The male was wrapped around the new female. Suddenly two tiny things emerged from the female. The male dived after them and captured them in his mouth.

"Mom," said Des, "he's eating them."

"No, darling, watch!" The fish swam up to a bunch of bubbles above him. He spat the eggs into the bubbles. That's one reason they had chosen to let her have the second betta. Des had begun her cycle a few months previously. Let her start learning about the birds and the bees with fish. "You could hardly expect him to hold his babies in his arms, could you? The fish use their mouths to hold things." Still, when he wrapped himself around his mate, he didn't look like he was being tender. Non-human things didn't have the sensitivity that John had shown. More than she'd wanted really.

They'd had a small reception after the ceremony. The families had managed to be quite friendly, really. Her sister, never friendly, having declined the invitation. Some of them had kept some rice, though, until the end of the reception; she and John were laughing and shedding rice all the way up the stairs to their new apartment. She combed her fingers through her hair in the doorway. He kissed her when the door was safely closed. It wasn't his first kiss of the evening, that had been the end of the ceremony; and clinking of glasses had called for many more during the reception. Still, this one lasted even longer, and his tongue probed instead of just visiting the tip of hers.

When he stepped back, the bed seemed to dominate the room. They'd already tried it out, but this time everybody knew. (Not that it had been a particularly well-kept secret; Des had spoiled that.) She looked away from it into his face.

"Oh, Kim," he said. He kissed her again. When they separated, she ducked into the bathroom. Once she'd used the facilities, she came face to face with a decision. They were going to sleep naked, they'd discussed that. Should she walk out undressed? She decided against that, but did remove her pantyhose instead of pulling them up. After a moment, she took off her panties as well. She pulled her skirt back on. How often had John seen her in a skirt? Not many times. There was nowhere to put the underclothes. She walked out with them in her hand.

John greeted her with another kiss. This time his hands went to the buttons on her blouse. When he was done with those, she broke to put it on a hanger and her underclothes over a chair. He moved behind her to get the bra snaps. He kissed the back of her head while smoothing his hands over her sides and up to her breasts.

"Not fair," she said, and started on his clothes. When he was down to underpants, he unsnapped her skirt. He bent over to lower it gently so she could step out of it. Probably, he was as aware as she was that it would be years before they'd be able to afford to replace clothes of this quality.

"Oh Darling!" he said when her mound came into sight. He couldn't have avoided noticing her underpants in her hand and on the back of the chair. Still, he was reacting nicely.

He kissed her there, kissed her again on the belly. Then he rose to kiss her full on the lips. He turned back the bed linens, and she climbed in.

"Do you think it shows?" she asked.

"No. Not when you're dressed. I have to look when you're like this, and -- anyway -- I know." He knew; their families knew -- even her damned sister -- especially her disapproving sister. Probably their friends knew. She didn't say any of that, though. He kissed her belly, climbed in, and kissed it again. "Sweetness," he said.

She tugged at the elastic of his underpants. He kissed her breasts before pushing his underpants down and throwing them on the floor. He went back to kissing her belly, all around the slight bulge, then lower into her hair, and then lower again.

"Oh John!" she said. She tugged on his arms and spread her legs. Suddenly, she wanted him inside.

"Oh yes," he said. But he stayed down there. He kissed her right on her lower lips and licked between them.

"I want you inside," she said. She did want him inside, and wanted his weight on top of her.

When he moved up in the bed and kissed her while hovering over her, she reached for him. Despite her feelings of expertise by now, they'd both were rather new at this. She placed him in just the right place, and he moved inward slowly and gently. "Oh, Kim," he said. Then he moved out and back almost all the way in.

She wanted more, wanted him to fill her up. Well, he had already filled her up, but she desired another filling. Then he turned them mostly onto their sides. She gripped him with her thighs. Soon his hand snuck down between them. "Oh, Kim," he said again. And it was Oh! It was lovely. And he drove into her and out of her, and he caressed her at her most sensitive point Then he kissed her softly at just the right time so that she gasped into his mouth.

He followed a moment later, pulsing in her, filling her again with his hot sperm.

Even at his most passionate moments, he'd been gentler than the fish was. He'd been more protective of the baby. He'd really been more protective than he'd needed to be. And, when Des was being born, he'd sweated bullets. She'd never asked whether he'd been worrying about Des or about her. Probably, knowing her husband, about both.

He should see this, though. The fish was carrying the eggs in his mouth. John would enjoy seeing another protective parent.

Des figured out that Pat and Mike were doing it. She wished she hadn't called her mom. She'd thought that she'd moved Mike into Pat's tank too soon and that he was fighting. They were called fighting fish -- all the articles warned aginst moving the female in too soon. Still, there wasn't any way to tear her eyes away. They were doing it. She just wanted to watch them by herself. Wasn't her mom embarrassed? And then, when it couldn't get worse, it did.

"John," her mom called, "you have to see this!"

He found his family watching the fish, watching another family apparently. One fish squeezed the eggs out of the other and then carried them up to the nursery. Then he -- fairly clearly it was he -- did it again. They were starting a family with three of another species looking on. Still, they should be used to the audience, if they could see them. Des spent hours watching them. And the worst way to start a family felt pretty good. He could remember.

The cast party was uproariously happy. Fitting in had been his hardest role, much harder than he'd had onstage. Angela had offered them a ride to Kim's place. Prof. Drake stopped him on the way out. "Wonderful performance, John," he said. "Can't I persuade you to change majors?"

"Professor, I'm a junior." And what role would he get as a theater arts major the next year? They weren't going to do "The Emperor Jones."

Angela dropped Dave and Annette off first. "Thanks, Angela," Dave said. "Forgive me?"

"Not till after the last performance. But you were a great Iago." He and Kim murmured agreement.

"And you were a wonderful Desdemona," Kim said as the doors closed behind the couple.

"Thanks, Kim. But we know who was the star of the evening."

For some reason that comment, kindly intended from a friend, broke the facade he had maintained throughout the party. "A triumph," he said, "of typecasting. Did you hear Drake? I wouldn't have even been considered if they had had a black male in theater arts."

"There's Desmond," Kim said.

"Desmond," Angela said before he could, "is not an Othello."

"Look," Kim said, "casting is one thing. But the fact is that your performance was a triumph tonight. You worked hard; you did well; I was proud of you."

"I'm glad," he said, not even trying to sound glad.

"Now, kids," Angela said, "be good. This is a night for celebration, not for argument." She laughed. "Be good. And if you can't be good, be careful. And if you can't be careful...."

"We'll name it after you," Kim had finished.

Not that they had been anywhere close to that. (But, back then, they had hidden where they stopped from their friends even more carefully than they had hidden what they did from their parents.)

"Kimberly," he gasped. She kissed him, and then the car was stopped at the door to her apartment house.

Melissa was gone; she and Kim had some sort of arrangement. He kissed Kim for a while in the tiny living room. Soon, they moved into her bedroom. He unzipped her dress while kissing her deeply. She moved away to hang up the dress and slip. He took the opportunity to slip off his shoes, putting the socks inside them next to the bedroom door. She took her shoes and pantyhose off as well. He had to bend even further to kiss her like that.

"I got two playbills this evening," she said. The play had been a university production -- theater arts hadn't owned it. And the University maintained a print shop. Two playbills on one ticket wasn't been that much cheating. "I think that I will send one to my mom." And the playbill had included an excellent (if small) photo of him.

"How you communicate with your parents is your decision." Indeed, it was her issue. She wanted his race not to matter, but it did -- it had for every minute of his life. It would matter to her parents. Well, the photo would take care of that.

Then she lay down, and that was much more comfortable. He kissed all over her face, then her neck -- carefully avoiding suck marks. When he kissed down her chest, she'raised herself so he could reach her bra strap. Her breasts were so white, and the nipples so pink. He arched over her, kissing them while she unbuttoned his shirt. After he'd thrown the shirt and tee-shirt towards the back of a chair, they shared the longest kiss. Tongue met tongue; skin met skin; his clothed legs pressed between her naked ones.

After he gave her breasts two quick kisses, she raised her bottom while he pulled her panties down. The hair down there was lighter than the hair on her head. The sight was still delightful each time, the feel more so. He rested on his left arm so that his mouth could move from breast to breast while his fingers were busy between her legs. "Oh, John," she gasped while pulling his hand against her even more firmly. He pulled back when she released him. Then he kissed the smooth whiteness of her breasts while she got her breath back.

When it was her turn -- or maybe his turn, she stripped him and hung his trousers on the back of a chair and tossed his shorts onto the seat. She stopped, though, with him in her hand. The feeling was exquisite, but he knew he wasn't going to get off with her holding still.

"Do you think," she said, "like Angela said, we could...? Could we be careful?"

"Oh, darling," he said. He scrabbled to get the wallet from his trousers and the condom he had kept there for months from the wallet.

And darling she'd been, and darling she still was. He reached out a hand to caress her bottom. Still watching the fish, she reached back and removed his hand. She held it in hers. Well, he'd take what he could get. He squeezed the hand, and she squeezed back. Des, presumably oblivious to her parents, was staring raptly into the fish tank. She should be oblivious to her parents' squeezing hands; she was totally oblivious to their orders. The male now swam back to the female and squeezed her again. In sympathy, John squeezed Kim's hand. He got a squeeze back, which was more than the fish got.

Still, Kim had always been demonstrative.

When he got the condom on, he started to kiss her breasts again. He intended to get her excited all over again before attempting entry. She, however, broke them apart to kiss him deeply. Then she lay back with her legs spread apart. While he wondered whether that meant what it seemed to mean, she reached over to gasp him. "Now, John," she said "now!"

"Kimberly, darling Kimberly," he said, climbing between her legs. She placed him at the spot and pulled. He pressed forward, but it didn't go in. He pressed harder.

"Do it," she said and clawed his bottom with her other hand. Suddenly, he passed whatever block there had been. Even through the rubber, he felt her heat. She was incredibly there, all around him.

When he was fully in her, pressed against her mound, he stopped. "Are you all right?" he asked. She didn't look all right. Inches from his face, hers was screwed up in a grimace.

"Go, on," she' said. And he did. The first withdrawal produced friction sweeter than any he had ever given himself, sweeter even than her hands had given him. Then he pushed forward again, pushed through slippery tightness, pushed into his love. Soon he sped up; the tension driving him in and out at an ever faster pace. Then he thrust into her harder than even the first stroke. He erupted into her warmth, and shot and shot.

"Oh, darling," he said minutes later. He gathered enough energy to kiss her and withdraw. He fell onto his back beside her. His eyes turned to the center of his sensation.

His cock was naked, except for his juices and a ring of rubber around the base. "Oh, Kim!" he said.

She obviously was looking at the same place. "Next time," she said, "I take care of the precautions."

His head was a mishmash of contradictory emotions. He'd done it; he'd goofed; he felt wonderfully drained; he felt awfully guilty; he loved her; she'd said "next time"!

The fish spat out an egg towards the nest. He squeezed Kim's hand again. The buzzer sounded; somebody was at the door. While he went to answer it, Des dived for her shoes. Justin was downstairs, and his father was in the car.

"It's Justin," he called. "Shall I ask him up to watch your fish?" The kids would be late; Justin's father would have to park the car, not so easy in this neighborhood. Still this was an event.

"Daddy!" How could her dad think she'd invite a boy up to watch her fish having sex. She'd long ago learned that her parents were clueless, but that clueless?

"Breakfast!" said her mom. Food was her first priority.

"Skip it." They would be late.

"I'll make you a sandwich." She'd take it. It was faster than arguing. Actually, she knew, she'd eat it. Her mom gave her two meatloaf sandwiches as she got to the door. They were in a freezer bag, and they were cut in halves. Her mom would cut sandwiches if the house was on fire. Still, it would make sharing with Justin easier.

"Thanks, mom," she said. "Can you put Mike back in her tank? Bye, dad."

"Love you," they both called as she ran down the stairs.

John listened carefully until he heard the door at the foot of the stairs click. Then he closed and locked the apartment door. "And I love you, too." He kissed Kim deeply, exploring the familiar mouth with his tongue. He pulled her against him by that lovely bottom . Then, for good measure, he moved his hands up her sides to her breasts.

"Got to move the fish," said Kim after pulling away. "And then I have to shower. Des will be gone for hours, we can take our time."

"I don't mind taking our time. I just want to kiss my wife." He did again. Kim, despite her words, cooperated in the kiss. This time her hands were on his bottom; her tongue licked his. She broke away, though. He followed her back to Des's room.

"Now," she said, "which one is Mike?"

"The male, probably. 'Pat' can be either gender." Of course, telling the sexes apart isn't easy with fish. One of them darted at the other. Kim netted the escapee with the small tool that Des used for that purpose. In seconds, she had returned it to its own tank. She headed for their room and the bathroom beyond it.

He headed down the hall to the kitchen. Real French toast was a treat. He could mix up the coating now and heat up the pan whenever they wanted to eat.

She took her time in the shower. She put jelly on the diaphragm and inserted it. Once again, she was thankful that they had taken an apartment with two baths. She could store what she wanted in this medicine cabinet without worrying about explaining it to Des.

She put on the robe but not the nightgown. She knew what he would want; for that matter, she wanted it too. They never made too big a public fuss about their wedding anniversary, less than six months before Des's corresponding birthday. Since their celebrations were private, they celebrated what they privately enjoyed about being married.

John was lying in bed when she got out of the bathroom. The clothes he'd worn so briefly were piled on his dresser. "You aren't dressed," she said. "What if I want to go out to eat as an anniversary celebration?"

"Which celebration do you want? A diner breakfast, or dinner in a Thai restaurant? Besides, the French toast is ready except for the bread."

"Well, it is time for breakfast." She turned towards the bedroom door.

"You don't intend to eat in your bathrobe, do you?"

"If you're going to be like that...." She removed the robe without revealing herself to his gaze. Then, slowly, she moved it around so that he got a view of her from behind. Slowly she pranced towards the door.

He laughed. "Someday, I'm going to let you go. I'd love to see you frying French toast with all that skin exposed."

"Well, now that you mention it, that would be dangerous. I suppose I have to go back to bed." Slowly, she turned around.

"Woman, you are still beautiful." She had never been beautiful. She had long ago lost the youthful prettiness which had characterized her when they had first met.

"I wasn't beautiful when you married me."

"All brides are beautiful. My bride was more beautiful than most, and beautiful in places I haven't seen in other brides."

She climbed into bed and gave him a kiss. "I love how you talk. I don't believe it, but I love it."

He tossed the covers down and kicked them off. They were lying beside each other wearing nothing but their rings. He kissed her ring finger. "Thank you for accepting me."

She kissed his mouth again, this time her tongue entered it. His met it, and the two tasted each other. "Thank you for proposing to me."

She came to him with her worries. His answer was immediate. "Will you marry me?" After she'd accepted, he continued. "If you're right, it should be as soon as practical. If you are wrong, we'll need to plan better. Either way, you said 'yes.' I'll hold you to that unless you take it back."

Now he said, "You were so clever with that fishnet." He kissed her fingers one by one; then he kissed her left palm; then he kissed her right palm. He continued up her wrist.

"Always thinking," she said. She kissed his forehead.

"The way you nourished Des." He kissed her right breast, then the left. He sucked and licked at that nipple until she felt even the right one harden.

"Way back then, I was so proud when you strode the stage and people were hanging on your every word." She kissed his mouth. He petted her thighs while they prolonged that kiss.

"The first year, your schooling interrupted, Des still a baby, you walked miles every day waiting on those tables." Well, she had worked with other organs, too; but she appreciated his kisses on her thighs. The licks and sucks down there sent thrills up to her belly.

"Your tongue has always thrilled me," she said. He came up in the bed to rest on his elbows on both sides of her arms. She kissed his mouth and sucked on his tongue. His erection was pressed between their bellies. Her nipples were firm against his chest.

"And," John said, "you gave me Desdemona." He kissed her nether lips before his tongue licked where their baby had come out. The game of thanks was over; now came serious business. One hand played with her breast while the other roved over her thigh and butt. He licked up, almost to her clitoris, and then down. Despite their nakedness in the airconditioned apartment, she wasn't cold. Indeed, all this attention was heating her up.

He rubbed the bottoms of her outer lips against one another while his tongue was licking all around her clitoris. When his tongue finally found the spot, he inserted two fingers into her. She planted her feet firmly on the bed and pushed her groin up to meet his face.

She felt him moving his fingers inside her, felt them hit paydirt. "Yes, John," she said. His fingers and tongue, even his hand on her breast, were kindling flames deep inside her. "Oh darling," she said.

Then, the flames burst within her, and she was too busy to feel anything. It went on and on, taking more and more of her, consuming her utterly. She arched mindlessly, writhing in ecstasy.

Suddenly, it was over. She lay there gasping while John lay with his head on her thigh. He clasped one butt cheek with the hand that was down there.

"Oh love," she said finally.

"I love you," he responded.

She managed to sit up in bed. At her pressure on his shoulder, he lay down flat. "And you," she said, "gave me Desdemona." She rubbed her cheek against his chest on her way to her target. His cock bobbed, knowing what was coming. She took the head into her mouth, letting it go with a soft kiss. Already firm, it arched upward after that kiss.

"And, long ago," he said, "you gave me yourself." This comment was new. So was the second kiss to her now-tender labia.

When he drew back, she turned onto her left side. He lay behind her with his cock pressing against her. She raised up on her elbow and reached her right hand down between her legs. She helped him in. His entry was slow and gentle, filling her. She was so full, so delightfully full.

He slid his arm under her to cup her left breast. He held her right one for a moment before smoothing it down her ribs and belly to her mound. He played with her hair there for a moment, meanwhile moving in and out once.

When she raised her leg, he pressed his fingers against the front of her labia. He kissed her shoulder and the back of her neck. Then he stroked in and out slowly. Meanwhile, one hand strummed her nipple while a finger of the other hand found her clit.

She was close, so close. She could feel the tension build and wondered briefly whether she felt different to him.

"I love you, Kim," he said. Which answered that question. "Oh, Kim. Oh, Kim - ber - ly!" On his last drawn-out word, she exploded. He sped, moving harder and faster within her pulsating, red-hot, depths.

As she came down from her climax, she felt him pulsing within her.

They lay quietly for some time, neither saying a word. She could feel his breath on her back. She could feel him slowly easing out of her. When he finally was out, she felt him drip a trail of liquid down her thigh. Later, more liquid oozed out of her and trailed down her left hip.

Whatever the mess, she was too content to move. She could lie in his arms forever.

"A little while ago, I thought of Angela," John said. An odd topic and one hell of a time to mention it.

"My sister," she said, "can roast in hell."

"She'd have to die first." Kim didn't see a problem there. "But I mean the other one, the theater-arts major."

Now, there was a better person to think of. The other Angela had come to visit when Des was only a few days old. "Oh, Kim," she'd said, "she's precious."

"You know," she continued, "I've been counting back." All their friends had been, probably; none had mentioned it before then. "You did, didn't you? Name her after me?"

Kim didn't answer. Maybe she blushed. She thought to explain why another Angela in her family would have been unthinkable. But her guest didn't look put out, quite the contrary. "Oh Kim! May I hold her?"

At a nod, she picked Des up, being careful to brace her neck. She cradled her and cooed.

Yes, that Angela had deserved the name.

They lay content, thinking their own thoughts, until her stomach rumbled. John laughed. "Breakfast?" he asked.

The End 
Fish Tank
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
2002/08/03
2003/04/21
2004/04/16
A different sort of wedding is involved in:
 "Morning Has Broken"  
This story is indexed in:
 Wedded Lust 
The list of all my stories is at:
 Index to Uther Pendragon's Website