Chapter 1 — My Wife

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. All characters are adults aged 18 or over.

---

January 25th, 19xx, is a day I will never forget for as long as I live.

It was the day I took into my arms a maiden—fair-skinned, softly plump in just the right places, nearly twenty years old—as my wife, someone I had idolized like an angel. It was also the night we first mingled our bodies. How eagerly I had awaited this moment! Instead of dreaming of marital bliss, I had spent the days consumed by fantasies, restless with desire, gripping my penis in solitude to soothe the ache within.

What other reason could there be to await the first night so fervently, if not for the joy of finally being free from loneliness—and at last realizing all the sexual dreams I'd imagined over the years?

The wedding ceremony concluded smoothly, and now, on this night, that same virgin girl was about to undergo a profound physical and psychological transformation.

We exchanged a few words, but time slipped away quickly. The night grew late.

“It's getting late. Let's go to bed.”

“Should I turn off the light?”

I switched off the light, and Sarah lay down beside me—on my left side. We were sharing one bed.

That night was three days past the full moon. The moon rose late, casting a faint, silvery glow into the room.

Borrowing that dim light, I turned my gaze toward Sarah. Just thinking about what was to come made my heart pound violently. I held my breath, motionless, eyes tightly shut.

Even the mere thought that a woman lay beside me sent blood rushing through my veins. My penis was already fully erect.

Gently, I reached out, pulling her trembling body close, wrapping my left arm tightly around her. I kissed her and whispered, “Are you shy?”

In a voice barely louder than a mosquito's hum, she murmured no, denying it, then buried her face against my chest.

My right hand naturally found its way to her breasts, gently caressing both soft mounds.

“How does it feel? Is your heart racing?”

“Yes,” she answered.

Her eyes remained tightly closed, surrendering herself completely to my touch.

The sweet fragrance emanating from her youthful body—the resilient, springy texture of her untouched breasts, their softness and warmth—made me feel as though I were cradling a tender little bird. It was an intoxicating, otherworldly allure.

Lost in sensation, I hungrily kissed the swollen curves of her breasts, then lightly sucked her nipples as a child might suckle its mother.

“I'm sorry,” I murmured apologetically as I pulled her panties back up. Then I hugged her tightly.

“Did it hurt?”

“Very much.”

Seizing a pause between kisses, she looked up at me with glistening eyes, her expression dazed yet radiant.

“So now I'm truly your wife… I'm happy.”

Whether she had forgotten the pain or simply dismissed it, I couldn't tell—but she pressed herself firmly against my chest, burying her face once more.

This must be the happiness of a woman who, having opened herself to her husband—the one meant to open her—had endured his penetration, accepted him fully, and now entrusted her entire life to the embrace of the spouse.

The warm scent of her soft flesh, the gentle rhythm of her sleeping breath—it seeped deep into my chest, warming me from within.

Dreaming of the nightly pleasures now mine to enjoy, I too quietly succumbed to sleep.

---

Given how intensely Sarah had suffered during our first intercourse due to the breaking of her hymen, I expected some resistance the next time. But that wasn't the case at all.

She was like a flower freshly bloomed. Perhaps a little shy still, she quietly settled on my left side again.

“Come here,” I said, extending my left arm.

Unlike the first night, her demeanor was different—still bashful, but she nestled against me, using my arm as a pillow.

“Last night hurt, didn't it?”

“That pain was part of becoming your wife.”

Moved by her tenderness, I pulled her close and began caressing her breasts, then lost myself in worshipping her womanhood.

A soft, rounded mound, like a small hill, adorned with delicate, tender tufts of hair—like young grass sprouting beautifully. From there flowed a sweet, tiny stream; within it, a delta, a natural spring welling up. Ah, beneath it all—the longed-for opening.

What a poetic landscape. Just imagining it made me lose all sense of reality.

I slid her panties down and begged her to touch my penis.

“…but it feels strange,” she said, offering a faint smile, her cheeks flushed.

“What's strange? Go on, grab it quickly.”

Without hesitation this time—unlike on our wedding night—she slipped her hand into my underwear.

“It's really hard and big! At first, I was shocked—wondering if I even had a hole big enough to take something like this. And then, how exactly it would go in…”

She paused, then added:

“I once heard there are women born without openings, unable to have marital relations. When I saw your penis for the first time that night, I actually wondered for a second if maybe I was one of them. I was genuinely startled.”

“But of course it hurt at first—how could it not, with something this hard and large going in?”

Yet rather than emphasizing the pain, I clearly sensed her quiet joy—her relief that it had gone in successfully.

When I demonstrated a slow, deliberate movement with my penis, she seemed increasingly curious about its mysterious mechanics.

“Can I… do it?”

“Yes, just don't make it hurt.”

Now, unlike the first night, she was thinking—how to minimize discomfort, how to give pleasure.

I shifted over her, positioning myself above, guiding my penis toward her entrance. She lifted her hands and gently spread her labia apart.

“Your breasts are beautiful.”

Occasionally, she flickered her eyes open, gazing silently at my face, saying nothing.

I slowly moved my hand downward from her breasts, slipping it beneath her panties.

When I touched her navel, she giggled, “Ah, that tickles!” curling her body toward me.

Touching her navel came easily, but below that—I hesitated. Still, I let my fingers wander gently across her soft, cushioned lower abdomen, moving naturally toward her sex.

The plush mound of Venus, thick with neatly arranged pubic hair. I rubbed it lightly, massaged it gently, then let my fingers glide into the parted folds.

I felt the plump, tender weight of her outer lips under my fingertips. The outer labia, pleasantly plump, clinging closely to the inner ones—oh, what a miraculous, sacred femininity!

My penis stood rigid, throbbing skyward, ready to explode. It strained so fiercely against my underwear it was as if the fabric had become a tent pitched just for it.

I could no longer contain the excitement building inside me.

“Can I take them off?”

As I placed my hand on the elastic band of her panties, she blinked—her eyes, which had been closed, fluttered open, locking onto mine.

Her cheeks glowed a soft red, her expression expectant, pleading. Even in the pale moonlight, I could see it clearly.

It was the look of a girl stepping into womanhood—anticipation mixed with a bittersweet farewell to her virginity.

Gently, I tugged her panties down.

“Is it okay if I take them off?”

She looked almost dazzled, then gave a slight nod. I began peeling them off.

For the first time, she didn't just lie passive—she twisted her hips slightly, lifting her waist to help me remove them.

Once her panties were off, I started taking off my own. Then I took her hand and guided it to my engorged, rock-hard penis.

At first, she flinched—her fingers recoiled slightly upon contact. This was natural; after all, it was her first time touching her husband's penis, and shyness was inevitable.

“There's nothing to be ashamed of,” I said, pressing her hand firmly around it.

At first, she just held it, motionless. But she was still a woman—how could she remain indifferent to the male organ? Soon, her fingers began to move.

“It's quite big, isn't it?”

She stroked it curiously, almost measuring it with her fingers. (Later, I learned this was the first erect penis she had ever seen.)

She didn't seem frightened by its size—more fascinated, awed.

The mystery of a boneless shaft standing rigid like a rod—everything about it felt supernatural to her.

Then, as if drawn by some hidden charm, her fingers drifted down to the soft sac beneath—caressing the testicles.

She touched the two round orbs as if they were rare treasures.

“Can I… do it now?”

Unable to wait any longer, I rolled her onto her back, rising over her, settling between her legs.

I positioned myself between her thighs, supporting my weight on my elbows and knees, hovering over her completely.

She braced herself, opening her legs slightly.

“I'm going in.”

I guided the tip of my penis to her slit, gently twisting to part her labia, then pushed forward with the head of my cock. She suddenly squeezed her eyes shut—whether from shame or pain, I couldn't tell.

“If it hurts, just bear it, okay?”

I applied slow pressure just below the opening, where I guessed the vagina lay, nudging the glans deeper.

She winced, her face tightening, instinctively resisting. As I carefully pushed further, I felt something resisting entry—firm, elastic.

So this is the hymen.

I steeled myself and pushed harder.

“Aaahhh……!”

She cried out, trying to push me away.

“Just a little longer—bear with it.”

I blocked her hands, wrapped my arms around her, tightened my grip, and thrust my hips forward—tearing through.

“It hurts! Wait—please! No, stop! Let's do it tomorrow!”

She gasped, her voice choked with pain, writhing beneath me. Her face twisted in agony.

Why was I doing this to her—making her suffer so? A vague, unsettling guilt flickered in my mind.

But how could I calm the raging fire in my loins? How could I suppress this surging tide of sexual ecstasy?

“Just a little more—hold on.”

Trying to comfort her, I moved my hips gently up and down, eager to climax quickly and release her from this torment.

With each motion, she grimaced, letting out soft moans of pain.

“If you keep moaning like that, the neighbors will hear. It's almost over—just a little longer.”

“But it hurts too much!”

I silenced her with a deep kiss, crushing her body against mine, accelerating the rhythm of my thrusts.

Then it came—the orgasm, accompanied by ejaculation.

A cry of ecstasy burst from my throat. The unparalleled pleasure of first-time sex surged through me. My penis convulsed, shooting streams of semen deep into her womb.

She stifled her pained cries in her throat, clinging desperately to my arms, enduring the pain.

Ah—one person moaned in the agony of first intercourse, while the other cried out at the peak of unimaginable pleasure. Such was the irony of our wedding night.

On this night, one virgin became a wife—and I, at twenty-seven, surrendered my own long-held virginity to her.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered, pulling her panties back up over her hips before hugging her tightly once more.

“Did it hurt?”

“So much…”

Between kisses, she looked up at me with tear-filled eyes.

“And now… I'm truly your wife. I'm happy.”

Whether she had forgotten the pain or simply let it go, I didn't know—but she clung to me, burying her face in my chest.

This was the happiness of one who had opened herself to her husband, who had received him into her body, and who now rested in the arms of the man to whom she had given her entire life.

The soft fragrance of her body, the warm sound of her breathing as she slept—it soaked deeply into my chest, soothing me.

Dreaming of the nightly joys now awaiting me, I, too, quietly drifted into sleep.

---

After the intense pain she'd endured during our first time, I expected some hesitation the next morning. But there was none.

She was like a flower just unfurling. Perhaps a little shy, she quietly settled on my left side again.

“Come here,” I said, reaching out my left arm.

Though different from the first night, she blushed and shyly curled into me, using my arm as a pillow.

“Last night hurt, didn't it?”

“That pain was what made me your wife.”

Touched by her words, I hugged her tightly and began caressing her breasts, then lost myself in adoring her womanhood once more.

That soft, rounded mound, with its delicate sprout of fine hair—like tender grass growing beautifully. From it flowed a sweet, tiny stream; within, a delta, a natural spring bubbling up.

Ah, beneath it all—the longed-for opening.

What a poetic sight. Just thinking of it made me dizzy with desire.

I slid her panties down and begged her to touch my penis.

“…but it feels strange,” she said, smiling faintly, her cheeks reddening.

“What's strange? Go on—grab it fast.”

This time, without hesitation, she reached into my underwear.

“It's really hard and big! At first, I was shocked—wondering if I even had a hole big enough for something like this. And then, how it would even fit…”

She paused, then added:

“I once heard that some women are born without openings and can't have marital relations. When I saw your penis for the first time that night, I actually wondered if maybe I was one of them. I was genuinely startled.”

“But of course it hurt at first—how could it not, with something this hard and large going in?”

Yet rather than focusing on the pain, I clearly sensed her quiet joy—that it had worked, that it had fit.

When I flexed my penis, demonstrating its movement, she grew increasingly curious about its strange, autonomous motion.

“Can I… do it?”

“Yes—just don't make it hurt.”

Now, unlike the first night, she was thinking—how to minimize discomfort, how to give pleasure.

I moved over her, guiding my penis toward her entrance. She lifted her hands and gently spread her labia apart.